Cedrus has Fallen
by ValkyrieLead
Summary: Overrun and besieged by orks, the Imperial Shrine World of Cedrus has little hope beyond that of a ragtag group of troops who call this planet home. When Imperial help finally arrives, will they be able to banish the green tide? Or will the green tide swallow another world?
1. Author's Notes

" _I've always felt that in this twisted universe, there is no force mightier than a will of iron, nerves of steel, balls of brass, a sturdy lasrifle in your grip and fifty more men like you at your rear flank._ "

—Attributed to Colonel Marthin Argentus

As a break from my on going League of Legends series of stories, and as an attempt to renew my recently diminished desire to write, I've been working on a Warhammer 40k story with quiet a bit of counseling, pressuring and encouragement from the lovely Methionin. Much of this is experimental, and much of this is simply me blowing off steam, but hopefully there are people who will enjoy reading this almost as I have enjoyed writing it.

Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me for this long, and apologies to those who were hoping for more Cataclysm.

You guys are the greatest.

-Val


	2. Prologue: Part 1

The slosh of mud and the labored breaths of man cut through the peaceful silence upon the barren, snowy plain.

…

The stink of mud, rotting corpses and human excrement festered in the air like the scent of pure fear.

…

The snow had just started to fall, drifting slowly down from the heavens, fat flakes starting to drop upon the mud and the blood, getting twisted about by the steam from the ragged breaths of soldiers and the low rumble of engines that spewed black exhaust.

 _"I want first platoon on the forward wall!"_

 _"Put a heavy bolter team in the pillbox, move!"_

 _"Get that tank into position!"_

The shout of panicked soldiers rushing to prepare cut through the air like a knife, the echo of hundreds of boots on frozen, packed earth echoing through the quiet air.

"Into the trenches! Lasguns forward! Eyes peeled!" The flash of a vibrant Power Sword waving troops forward sliced through the frosty air, more orders getting barked angrily about as officers tried to marshal their troops into position. The officer's cap was peaked high, the crest of the skull and wings of a commissar polished to a high sheen glimmering atop his head. His chest was covered in cord, golden epaulets glimmering on the shoulders of his red-trimmed coat. He gestured to a militiaman who was dragging his feet, leveling the ornate bolt pistol at the man's head. "You!" He bellowed, hopping down from atop a bunker, striding purposefully towards the soldier, seeing the militiaman's eyes track about, finally settling on the fast approaching commissar, the whites growing visible around his eyes growing visable. "You are a proud soldier of the Cedrus Planetary Defence Force! Move like the God-Emperor is watching you! Move, move, move!"

The militiaman took off at a jog, jumping down into the duracrete lined trench, dodging a few of his fellows as they jogged along the trench in the opposite direction before stepping up to the defensive shelf, mounting their positions along the forward wall. He laid his standard issue lasrifle over a sandbag, looking out over the hazy wastes of the approach, seeing muddy craters, upturned earth and dead ork in every direction. The scent of ork flesh was heavy and sickening in the air, almost sticky sweet, but charred like an overcooked piece of meat from the impacts of lasguns, mixed with the acrid stench of Fyceline from from imperial explosives. The man bowed his head, offering up a desperate last prayer to the Emperor, desperate for his blessing and guidance as he prepared to give his life in defense of the Imperium.

His head snapped up, hearing the low rumble of approaching armor, scanning the distant horizon, looking for the ramshackle red paint and spikes of Ork armored vehicles, but as his heart thundered in his chest, he realized the sound was coming from behind him. He turned slightly, pushing his helmet up on his head, watching as a crippled Leeman Russ tank was pushed into a hulldown bunker position by another Leeman Russ with a dozer blade, the shattered remains of the former's forward lascannon gnarled and twisted into a useless mass of congealed plasteel. The berms of the bunker rose up to the top of the tank's hull, protecting everything but the turret. The second tank revved its engine, spewing a thick cloud of greasy black smoke as it clanked backwards, spinning in place and halting. The hatch atop the tank opened and the tank's commander emerged, leaning over, rocking and jerking about as the tank lurched up beside the commissar, now conversing with a militia officer, wearing a similarly peak-billed cap, a colonel's rank tabs gleamed on his uniform. A nervous looking trooper, a lasrifle gripped in his hands stood behind the two officers, shivering, the Vox-caster gear rattling on his back with every shiver that coursed through his frail body.

"Sir, we've finished digging in the last of our tanks." The sergeant riding atop the tank looked down at the commissar and the colonel as they turned and surveyed the few scattered tanks that had been strategically placed along the defensive lines. Most were badly damaged, relegated to nothing more than stationary gun positions.

"Very good, sergeant." The colonel said wearily, saluting, noting the cold sneer the fanatical commissar gave him. "Get your tank to your bunker and hull-down. The Emperor protects." He grimaced, raising the magnoculars that hung around his neck to his eyes, scanning the distant horizon.

"We can only hope the coming blizzard slows the orks long enough for help to arrive." The tanker said, leaning on the turret of his vehicle, brushing some accumulated flakes from the armored plating. "The Emperor better damn well protect till then." The commissar shot the man a warning glare, but the tanker had already disappeared back into the warmth of his armored shell, the tank growling as its engines revved and it lurched forward, chewing up mud as it rumbled away.

The commissar turned to the troopers who were watching the exchange with wary gazes. "If no help arrives, we shall die fighting, dragging as many of those orkish primitives down to hell with us as possible!" The commissar snarled, pumping his Power Sword above his head as he led the men in a rallying cry. A ragged cheer passed through the PDF troops as they turned back to the killing zone before them, their hands gripping weapons desperately, their eyes peeled, fearful of the coming battle.

The colonel risked casting the commissar a weary look before turning to look back at his defenses. He only had a few companies of Planetary Defense Troopers and a bare handful of armor pieces left spread along the defensive lines. Most were worn thin and tired from the cold and the lack of food, but they finally had adequate defensive positions, and the men's spirits had been bolstered by the fact that they had turned back many of the ork's probing attack so far, the remnants of the ork forces scattered across the firing lanes along the front of the base serving as a remind to the troopers that the orks were as mortal as they were.

The firebase was backed up to the Black Forest, a heavily forested terrain so treacherous that even the ork horde had dare not venture through it less they burned a swath for their advance, leaving him with only the forward arc and his flanks to worry about. He peered through his magnoculars again, studying his troops from atop the slight rise that marked the approach to the heavy bunker that comprised his command center.

Constructed as a guardpost for at most a company at a time when on training maneuvers, the firebase had been drastically overhauled with habs, what few prefabricated bunkers had been available, and all the duracrete the colonel had been able to get his hands on for trenches and bunkers. Originally, the small firebase had simply been a training facility, equipped with heavy bunkers and permanent trenches for drilling, but when the attack had come, it had swollen to a mighty bastion, bristling with tanks and lasguns. Now, as he looked along his lines, more of the hull-down tank bunkers were occupied by burnt out hulks than functioning tanks, and the militiamen he had left were threadbare against the rapidly approaching Cedrus winter, weary from constant battle, and starved of both ammunition and food. In the last few days they had lost more men to hypothermia and dissension, quickly quashed by the driven commissar, than to the probing ork attacks that had come so far. The men only seemed to bare with it due to the fact that the attacks had been light, only a few hundred at most coming at any one time, and scant few had made it through the militiamen's interlocking fields of fire alive. Each victory seemed to buoy the men's spirits a little more against their bleak prospects, but there was little that could be done despite the small victories.

It was vital they held out till contact could be made with higher authorities, for this was the last bastion of humanity left on Planet Cedrus. If the firebase fell, no one would know what happened to the planet.

"See that the men are prepared for battle, Commissar." The colonel ordered in his firmest tone. The commissar gave him an approving look, nodding his head curtly, setting off along the trench line, his voice already bellowing at the militiaman who were struggling to stay warm upon the packed earth and duracrete fortifications. "Come, private. We must return to the command bunker."

The vox officer offered no words, simply snapping off a salute and falling in behind him, his lasrifle held at the ready, his head twisting back and forth as he took in the defensive formations.

The colonel trudged up the slope and then started down the steps the bunker's main accessway, pausing briefly, turning to look towards the horizon, now obscured by the heavy snow. "I don't think a little snow is going to be anywhere near enough to stop the green tide." The colonel grimaced at his own tone, thinking that if the commissar had been within ear shot he likely would have shot him dead then and there.

"Sir?" The vox officer asked, glancing at him.

"Nothing." The colonel muttered. He turned and descended the steps into the bunker, passing militiamen stationed behind sandbag berms, a heavy bolter imposed in the wall at the far end, its field of fire aimed directly down the hall at the stairwell. Glow globes cast harsh pools of artificial light upon the ground, throwing long shadows along the hallway.

The colonel stopped at a doorway, snapping off a crisp salute for the sergeant who stood at the heavy door, a well worn shotgun slung loosely around his neck. The sergeant saluted, turning and speaking into a vox panel, the glowing red light attached to the panel blinking once and then gleaming a verdant green. The heavy blast doors opened slowly, groaning as they slid back, allowing the colonel to enter. He strode in, passing more militiamen, most badly injured as they were attended to by medics. He paused, looking at the grim situation in the open bay, seeing dozens of men wrapped in bandages, some propped up against wall, holding lasrifles trained loosely at the door while others sat next to bodies covered by matte green sheets, muttering prayers to the God-Emperor under their breath as they rocked back and forth. The colonel had to gag as he watched a medic try to spray synth-skin over a particularly gruesome leg wound on a militiaman, several of the other wounded men holding the afflicted down, sliding about in the pooling blood on the duracrete floor, struggling for purchase.

The colonel mounted the stairs at the back of the room, saluting the two guards who stood at the door to the command center. He stepped into his command post, the musty scent of maps, field cogitators, and the acrid ozone scent of a malfunctioning chart table all hitting him at once. At the center of the room the chart table blinked out for a moment, a frustrated militiaman slapping the machine impatiently, watching as it burst back to life, the hololiths flickering above it, displaying small blue dots and slightly larger rectangles signaling the positions of soldiers and tanks on the battlefield.

"Any contact with the enemy?" The colonel snapped, looking to the militiaman manning the vox-comm bank where he could monitor all the chatter in the firebase.

"All sectors report clear, colonel." The militiaman barked. He spoke a few words into the vox, waited a few moments, and then a reply crackled back, the signal slightly garbbled. "Scouts atop the bunker report that the auspex is clear for thermals as far as it can detect, sir."

"Good." The colonel murmured, pausing before the flickering hololiths, studying the fleeting blue lights. He watched as one of the large blue rectangles crept to a halt in a vaguely square shape along the jagged defensive lines. The tanker he had spoken with before was now in position. "How go repairs on the eastern approach?"

"The trenches are patched with flakboard and sandbags as best we can manage, but its not duracrete, sir." A trooper reported. "It should hold till we get rescued though." He seemed to still be holding onto the impossibility that the true of the Imperium was on its way. The colonel bit back bitter words; the Imperium likely didn't even know what had happened here.

"It will have to do." The colonel sighed, turning back to the vox bank, looking down as the trooper fiddled with his controls, twisting knobs and hitting buttons, trying to restore the stability. "How goes it, trooper? Any contact with Armageddon?"

"Nothing sir." The trooper muttered, shaking his head, grimacing. "Our gear just doesn't appear to be strong enough to get through the atmospheric storms to even the nearest planet, much less Sector Command on Armageddon."

The colonel cursed silently, the solid lump of ice coalescing in his gut. He patted the militiaman on the shoulder as reassuringly as possible. "Keep trying."

"Yes, sir." The trooper said tightly, as if he resented the implication that there was something more he could possibly do that he hadn't already tried dozens of times in the last few weeks. The colonel looked around the command center, feeling the grim mood, most of the men barely hanging on the vaguest possibility they might get rescued.

The vox crackled to life. "Contact! Western approach! Approximately fifty, repeat five-zero greenskins! Distance three kloms and closing fast!"

The colonel stepped forward, picking up a vox receiver, pressing the activation rune. "This is Colonel Mackey. Are they on foot?"

"Appears so, sir. No armor in sight." The vox crackled. "ETA three minutes."

The colonel grimaced to himself, glancing down at his chron, hitting a few keys, watching as the display started reeling off numbers as he handed the receiver back to the militiaman. "Get on the horn and tell alpha company to let the orks move well into the killing zone before opening fire. I don't want a single ork to get away. Make sure the tanks don't fire. I don't want them to give their positions away yet."

The militiaman looked confused but relayed the orders, notifying the colonel when the orders had been confirmed by the company commander and his platoon leaders. The colonel turned back to the hololith, watching as a number of red dots entered the field along the far left side, moving slowly towards the western defensive zone. The red dots started to flash, indicated they were firing weapons of some sort, likely crude ork bolters that would merely bounce off the duracrete defenses.

"Captain Gerhardt is reports taking fire and wants permission to open up at his maximum effective range to keep casualties down, sir." The vox officer called.

"Put me on the captain's company frequency." The colonel snapped, stepping up to the vox bank. The officer complied, hitting a combination of buttons and knobs to bounce the frequency down. The vox started to flow with panicked chatter of militiamen reporting incoming fire. The colonel snatched up the vox receiver from the trooper and was about to press the activation rune when a voice boomed through, drowning out the rest of the voices. "This is Captain Gerhardt. Calm down boys, you all know how inaccurate ork fire is-keep your heads down and we'll all be home in the morning." The colonel indulged in a grim grin as he waited, listening as the chatter died down, turning to watch the red dots creeping closer to the line of blue dots. "Wait till you see the yellows of their eyes, then pump 'em full of las! Wait for the order!"

Shaky acknowledgements came in as platoon leaders radioed their confirmation.

"Keep me apprised of any developments." The colonel snapped, gesturing for his vox officer to fall in behind him. The militiaman at the vox bank saluted as the colonel moved to a doorway leading off the side of the command center, mounting the steps inside. He passed through another checkpoint, past another gun emplacement, continuing upwards until he stepped out onto the roof of the bunker, into a small emplacement formed of duracrete blocks and sandbag berms. A number of militia men turned, surprised to see the colonel standing there, looking annoyed as he scanned the hazy distance, a veil of white snow descending now. "What's the exact count?"

One of the scouts, his armor lighter than the colonel's flak armor snapped off a salute, holding what looked like a spotlight of sorts, a cable running from the auspex to the dataslate where a pict-screen showed images with the orange glow of thermals flashing past at a slow rhythm. "My count is fifty six, sir."

"Weapons?"

"A few bolter type weapons, sir, but nothing major. Standard ork fare." The scout murmured, using the simple buttons upon the dataslate to tab through the picts, examining them closely. "The leader isn't that large. Could be another scouting formation."

"Most likely." The colonel murmured, letting his hand fall to his hip instinctively, feeling the comfortable leather wrapped butt of the laspistol upon his hip, concealed in its leather holster.

A trooper armed with a long lasrifle with a scope gestured towards the distant defensive lines. "Orks are within the kill zone, colonel."

The colonel nodded, listening as the vox crackled with Captain Gerhardt's voice calming his men, urging them to wait just a bit longer. He lifted his magnoculars to his eyes, peering down and watching as ork soldiers crept forward, moving closer and closer to the defensive lines, picking their way along shell crates and over the rotting corpses of their brethren.

The orks had leathery grin skin, red and brown leather jackets pulled over their flesh, some of them dressed with furs from the planetary fauna. They had piercing yellow eyes, beady and angry. The leader was the largest of the orks, easily a head taller than the colonel, thick tusks jutting from his lower jaw. It roared an angry cry, pumping its bolt weapon over its head, pushing its burly troops into a run as they closed with the defensive lines. The orks fired wildly, most of the rounds striking the mud just before the milita lines or flying high over head, well clear of the troops, but in a few places round blasted rough chunks of duracrete away. The militia men cowered in the trenches, hearing the orks starting to charge, their brutish warcrys carrying up to the command bunker.

The vox barked. "Open fire!"

Captain Gerhardt was the first to fire, pushing himself up from behind the trenchline, leveling his laspistol with the ork leader, squeezing off a single shot. The colonel watched as the ork leader's head exploded in a fountain of blood, gobbets of flesh and leathery hide raining down upon the other orks. For a brief moment the orks stumbled to a halt, suddenly leaderless, faced with hundreds of lasrifles all trained upon them.

Suddenly, lasrifles blazed, scything through the ork troops, militiamen pushing themselves up along the trenches and blasting away with reckless abandon, blazing through the oncoming orks with impunity. Only a few of the orks survived the initial salvo, charging blindly forward with their axes raised high as they bounded forward, the few with bolters blasting aimlessly away. They were picked off quickly in the second salvo, the massed las fire cutting them down in mere moments, one ork getting cut clean in half, the beast crawling slowly forward, his guts spilling from his torso as he roared defiantly. The ozone scent of lasgun fire filled the air, a deathly quiet descending upont eh battlefield as soldiers, their adrenaline pumping, searched for any targets. A single ork grunted, pushing itself up, clawing desperately at the ground towards the trench lines.

A militiaman mounted the lip of the trench, leveling the muzzle of his lasrifle with the ork's burning yellow eye before pumping a single round into the ork's head. It exploded, spraying the snow with red ork blood, the militiaman raising his weapon above his head and whooping victoriously, the cheer echoing up and down the defensive lines. The scouts atop the bunker even joined in, the colonel grinning to himself as he watched the morale swell again.

"Good job, men." The colonel said encouragingly, nodding his head approvingly. He saw hopeful smiles upon the men's faces. "Stay vigilant and keep up the good work." The men murmured their thanks. "Emperor watch over us."

The soldiers echoed him, saluting as they turned back to their emplacements, the auspex again starting to scan the distant horizon, the scouts adjusting it scan the longer distance. The colonel saw a warm image of the killing field, heated by stray las fire and spilled ork blood, flash across the pict-screen. The colonel turned on his heel and descended back into the bunker, leaving the vox officer in the command center before moving deeper into the bunker into his personal office.

The room was dusty and dark, glow orbs casting harsh artificial light around the room, but not all things about the room were bad. Opulent decorative tapestries showed the PDF coat of arms along the left side of the back wall, a massive Imperium Aquila gleamed at the head of the room, and the right most hanging was a decorative tapestry of the planet's coat of arms. The colonel had cleaned up all the flat surfaces of the office as best he could, ignoring the large shelves of heavy tomes, turning his attention to an old recaf machine sitting on a side table. He flipped the machine on and then doffed his cap, tossing it on to one of the open side tables. He settled into an overstuffed chair at the side of the room, laying back, settling deep in the chair and exhaling slowly, closing his tired eyes, hoping for a few minutes rest.

The crackle of the vox communicator panel on his desk woke the colonel from the depths of sleep. He sat up, sniffing at the air, the scent of recaf heavy in the small office. He grunted as the crackle came again, this time discernible words echoing among the static. "Colonel Mackey, sir. Please report to the command center."

The colonel muttered a few choice words as he pulled himself to his feet, moving to the desk and depressing the activation key. "On my way."

The colonel turned to the side table, grabbing his cap and pulling out a china cup and saucer some previous commander had used, setting both onto the side table next to the recaf machine. He could smell the rich scent of the machine dripping the hot brown liquid into the waiting pot, pausing as he looked at the array of crystalline decanters gleaming next to it before pouring himself a steaming cup of recaf. He paused, considering the luxury of it, looking to the bottle of artificial sweetener next to the machine for a minute before grunting, instead grabbing one of the decanters, lifting the stopper and sniffing the contents.

"Sweet enough." The officer muttered, topping his cup of recaf off with a generous dollop of the amber liquid, stirring it using a fine silver spoon, another of the previous resident officer's prizes. He lifted the cup to his lips and swallowed, feeling the burn of the drink flowing down the back of his throat, sighing contently as the heat of the recaf and the burn of the amber liquid warmed him through. He tugged his cap on in an officious manner, setting off, carrying the cup and saucer in hand as he made his way to the command center.

"What is it?" He demanded as he pushed into the command center, glancing at his chron. It was almost sunset.

A soldier offered him a wide smile. "We've detected a ship in orbit, sir."

The colonel practically gagged on his recaf, his eyes going wide as he set the cup and saucer down atop a piece of equipment. "Bring it up on the holo." He ordered quickly, seeing a soldier setting about pulling up an image of the ship in orbit. It was a small cargo ship, but the colonel's heart soared. "Have you made contact?"

"Just now, sir." The soldier at the vox bank said, offering him a wide smile. "They're currently maneuvering to redirect our signal to Sector Command on Armageddon." A blocky looking bulk-lifter appeared on the hololith, the shimmering image of the massive transport starship spinning slowly in the hololith. It was barely more than a command pod blistering with antennae, a monstrous cargo section and a bank of engines at the end connected by a rigid spine, but to the colonel, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

The colonel grinned. "Damn good job, men." A cheer rippled through the militia soldiers.

As silence started to descend upon the command center as the colonel admired the dull ship's angles as if they were the curves of a fine woman, the rattle of the spoon on the saucer starting to grow louder and louder. Recaf splashed over the edge of the cup, the glassy surface shivering and jumping.

"What the…" One of the soldiers murmured, jumping when the cup crashed to the ground, smashing and splashing recaf across the duracrete.

Color drained from the colonel's face. "Private, connect me with the scouts." The vox officer silently tapped in the commands as the colonel grabbed the receiver.

"Corporal Tersah." One of the scouts on the roof of the bunker reported through the static of the vox.

"This is Colonel Mackey. Any contact on the Auspex?" The colonel snapped.

"All clear, sir." The vox crackled, washing into static for a second.

"Damn." The colonel snapped, his mind racing. He turned to the man at the back of vox-comms. "Can you connect me to the ship?"

"Sir?" The vox officer looked confused, but the grave look upon the colonel's face quelled his protests. He hit the appropriate keys.

"This is firebase Cedrus, please respond." The vox crackled angrily, washing completely to static for several seconds as if in protest of the foul weather.

"This is transport Herald of Noctan, Firebase Cedrus." The voice crackled distantly upon the vox. "Go ahead."

"Herald of Noctan, can you redirect and turn your Auspex planetward and supply us with a Hololith feed?" The colonel was leaning against the vox bank, his voice becoming urgent.

"Firebase Cedrus, we will be happy to oblige, but be warned, this will delay the connection between you and Imperial Sector Command on Armageddon." The ship's commander seemed slightly annoyed but the colonel didn't care.

"That's fine, Herald." The colonel tapped his boot impatiently, clenching his fist. "Just do it."

"Executing roll." The ship reported, several long moments echoing through the static of the vox. "Now assuming holding position in stationary orbit. Feed inbound, Firebase Cedrus."

"Feed established with Herald of Noctan." The soldier operating the hololith barked from across the room. The colonel saw a view of the entirety of the planet of Cedrus, the planet looking oddly serene in its translucent blue haze.

"Train your auspex on this position, Herald." The colonel ordered. The feed on the hololith moved, zooming in from the view of the entire planet, training on the largest continent, for a moment. The colonel could make out the two darkened spots of the capital-shrine city of Atlas and the once bustling spaceport of Cyprus. Both were darkened spots of fire-blackened carnage, the spires of smoke visible even on the auspex. The sensors tightened again, centering on a massive bank of clouds that spanned the northwestern reaches of the planet in its entirety.

The vox crackled. "Going to thermals."

Suddenly the bank of clouds turned a deep blue. At the very center was a small dot of orange, the faint splay of the firebase's defensive lines resolving as the auspex zoomed in again, training it's view on the firebase. There was a massive ring of color in the distance, encircling the firebase. The distance between the firebase and the closest arc of what could only be the entirety of the ork army on the planet must have easily been two kiloms. The swath of toiling orange color was easily twice as thick.

"Emperor help us." The vox officer murmured in terrified reverence.

"Herald, begin immediate repositioning to connect us with Imperial Sector Command." The Colonel snapped. He didn't wait for a response and no acknowledgement came from the Herald of Noctan. The captain had obviously realized the gravity of the situation. "Give me a battalion wide vox cast." The soldier look up at him blankly, the severity of the situation having just crashed over him, leaving him with a blank stare. "Just do it!" The colonel barked. The vox officer started to tap in the commands, his motions sluggish as he mumbled under his breath, asking what the point was. The colonel pulled his laspistol from his holster and leveled with the vox officers head. "Do your duty, soldier, or I'll grant you the Emperor's Benediction myself."

The vox officer continued muttering, but his hands flew over the keys now. "Go ahead."

"All units, this is Colonel Mackey." He waited a second, allowing all of the units to concentrate on his voice. "Listen up, men. We've made contact with a starship who is currently connecting us with Armageddon as we speak, however the damned Greenskins are preparing their final attack." He paused again, taking a deep breath. "They're on our left, they're on our right, they're in the front of us, and the Black Forest is behind us. They can't get away this time. Shoot straight, shoot often, and don't let the greenskins take this rock without a damn fight!" The cheer echoed from above as the men rallied, despite the odds they didn't know they yet faced. "The Emperor will protect us! For Cedrus! For the Imperium! For the Emperor!"


	3. Prologue: Part 2

The heavy snow was whipping into the worst blizzard that Nob Grimlug Rotfang had ever seen in his life. The snow was heavy and thick, already halfway up the beast's monstrous legs as he kicked aimlessly at the white stuff, listening to his 'ard boyz mutter about the Zoggin' cold. He glanced about, looking to Boss Ironteef Mekwrekka as the massive ork warboss watched the distance with uncharacteristic calm in his expression. The monstrous ork's armor shivered with his every breath, clanking and humming with power, fire and greasy black smoke billowing from the exhausts as he lifted a foot and stomped the ground once.

"WAAAAAGH!" Rotfang felt the ground shiver underfoot as his leader reared his head back and let loose a vicious roar, the warcry starting with the singular boss, but it spread almost immediately as every ork bayed for the blood of that last of the human occupiers. Soon as this camp was crushed, there would be little left to stop the orks in their conquest of the planet.

"Moun' up!" Mekwrekka bellowed as he stepped onto his own tank, part armored vehicle and part war chariot, built from the base of one of the massive imperial land crawlers. It growled to life with a thunderous roar, spitting a cloud of black smoke into the air as the engines revved wildly.

The entirety of the massed ork army followed suit, the singular roar again turning into a world shaking wave of roars like the thunder of a thousand lightning strikes all at once as every single one of the ork buggies, trucks, and tanks howled to life. They were soon joined by the clank and screech of the meks, the low bass rumble and growl of heavier tanks, the noise offset only by the impatient baying of his troops, desperate for human flesh.

Rotfang, looking back at his column of trukks, overflowing with his squad of 'ard boyz and their heavy armor and weapons, jerked himself up and dropped into the passenger seat of the lead trukk, kicking a leg up, resting his dakka gun on the crude bar that had been welded across the open door. The vehicle rattled and shook beneath him as he listened to the roar of the army around him, his chest pounding, the red-haze desire to crush and to maim nearing an unbearable desire. All orks craved battle, it came to them naturally, but for Rotfang, he had never found anything he liked more than smashing human skulls and the bloodletting of a ferocious battle. Some orks, like those who manned his trukks, had found solace in other aspirations, such as the Kult of Speed. They managed to satiate their baser needs and desire with racing their ramshackle trukks and buggies. He slammed an armored foot into the dash of the truck, his impatience causing the driver and gunner to jump.

"Waz up wiv you, boss?" The driver asked, leaning against the massive steering wheel, his thick goggles pushed up on his green head, revealing a lightened pattern where the protective goggles had kept the soot and diesel smoke from staining his green skin nearly black. "You got da ish o' sumfing?"

Rotfang looked at the odd ork, seeing the wild look in his eyes, knowing that if he didn't control the lesser ork well he'd be content charging the human settlement singlehandedly, so long as he got to roar along as fast as possible on the way there. _Zoggin' Speed Freeks._

The trukk grumbled as the driver revved the engine, his impatience starting to show in his trembling hands, slowly running over the crude steering wheel, stroking it almost affectionately.

"Da Boss is playin' scared." Rotfang grumbled, kicking the dash again, letting the barrels on his dakka gun whirl, listening to the satisfying clicking. Rotfang fought back the urge to let loose with the dakka, remembering how he'd gotten his nickname because of his impulsiveness around the warboss. He let his chain axe rest against his leg as he ran his finger along the rotting stump of a tusk that jutted from one side of his jaw. "If dat wuz me in da Mega Armor, we wuda smash'd da oomies by now." Rotfang grumbled, kicking the dash again, noticing the annoyed look of the driver as he beat the trukk. _Zoggin boss._

"You 'az da 'eavy armor, doh." The driver muttered enviously. "I wish I 'ad 'eavy armor."

Rotfang cuffed the back of the driver's head, smashing his crooked nose into his beloved steering wheel. "Shut ya Zoggin' mouff else I fee' ya dis trukk, bit by bit, you slimy git."

The driver looked angry but shut his mouth. Continuing to challenge a nob was a bad idea, especially one who had the firepower to both blast his beloved trukk to smithereens and then forcefully feed it to him afterwards.

"Deez puny oomies iz jus' a buncha sof' gitz you nee' sum shootin' and stompin'!" The gunner roared, swinging his twin-linked shootaz back and forth impatiently, bouncing up and down in his turret. "Wuz da boss waitin' fo now?"

"Boss ain't redy, you gitz." Rotfang snapped, grabbing the barrel of one of the shootaz and yanking it down, slamming the back end into the gunner's chin. "Shu' yur squig-'ole, you gitz! Anyfin' mo' an I'z fee' yas to da snotlin's!" The ork howled in anguish but shut his trap, grumbling under his breath, muttering about Zog, Gork, Mork and ust what Rotfang could do with his squig-'ole.

There was a steady roar of engine and the rumblings of impatient orks waiting to be unleashed on the humans. Their scent of battle, crude engine exhaust and unwashed ork, was in the air, mixed with the smell of human gunmetal, the scent remarkably clean and of oil and polish. Rotfang spat at the thought of human armor, so weak and clean, pounding his fist upon his chest, the heavy red plating clanging with each strike. His 'ard boyz behind him heard the clanging and responded in kind, banging weapons against armor plating, the trukk, anything loud and metal within their reach.

There was a roar of disapproval rippling through the ork formation as a buggy from somewhere down the line roared forward, the vehicle's driver obviously having grown impatient, their bloodlust overcoming their fear of the boss's retribution. There were several long moments of the distinctive roar and whine of the warboss's dakka kannons firing, the wild tails of heat and light flashing through the air over Rotfang's head. The rounds sprayed wild of the buggy for a brief moment, but they quickly tracked, matching the buggy as it raced forward, the driver realizing his folly as the ork boyz hanging to the vehicle dropped away. The buggy leapt forward without its heavy orkish payload, but Mekwrekka's fire traced forward and then scythed through the vehicle. The orks watched on in silence as the vehicle smoked for a brief second as it rolled onwards, but suddenly flames burst forward and then the jalopy exploded into a brilliant rolling fireball, crashing end over end to the frozen tundra, reduced to nothing more than a blackened, burning hulk.

"Daz wut 'appenz wen you cross da Boss." The gunner of the trukk muttered, his voice a mix of mirth and resentment, as if he was surprised anyone would dare oppose the ork warboss.

Rotfang the Nob only grunted his agreement, glancing up at the warboss, eying his jaw of jagged iron just as his tank lurched forward. An excited warcry went up as trukks and buggies started to roll forward as well, some lurching and coughing, other bursting into pillars of fire and black smoke, but not a one dared pass the boss until he gave the word. Rotfang's trukk rolled forward, coughing and then roaring louder as the driver slammed the gear into place and lurched forward, the super charger whining as the driver poured on the speed till he matched that of the warboss's heavy tank. _Zoggin' Mekwrekka._

"I cud be da boss if it wuzzn' fo Mekwrekka, da great git." Rotfang muttered, revving the barrels on his dakka gun again, feeling the weapon buzz with excitement. The scent of the stagnant exhaust and the heat of the vehicles was replaced with cold wind whipping over his face, the scent of human flesh and gunmetal growing stronger and stronger. He fought back the urge to let off a long burst as he contemplated how he could kill Mekwrekka and take that shiny mega armor of his. He looked up to the boss, watching as the towering ork took on an almost pensive look, his armor shivering with power, a bolt of lightning crackling over the swaying force field towers, the cords bouncing and shivering, buffeted by the wind, bouncing as his tank rolled forward, slowly picking up speed. The boss's mega armor was imposing, covered in dakka and shootaz, a vicious looking klaw snapping impatiently as he banged it upon the top of the tank, the sound ringing and echoing across the battlefield.

"Wiff dat, I cud be boss. Zog it. Affa dis, dat armor is up fo' da takin'." Rotfang smiled with his crooked teeth, turning to the coming battle before him.

"WAAAGH!" Warboss Mekwrekka let out a mighty warcry as he let loose with all of his firepower, opening up at the enemy position well before he was within range. That was the sign for all the other orks to open up as well, and suddenly, it was as if Armageddon had been unleashed. "CHARGE!" Bolter fire erupted up and down the battleline as hundreds of orks let loose, finally getting to give in to their desires, blasting away, burning through ammunition wildly. Rokkits and kannons blasted away on tanks and from their mounts on the back of trukks, explosions starting to throw up dirt around the enemy position, both beyond and before, great geysers of earth reaching skyward.

Ahead, the flash of enemy cannons could be seen briefly lighting along the lines as they let loose with a salvo, but as their rounds struck the charging ork lines, the exploding trukks and tanks and buggies only seemed to spur the orks on faster as they howled with bloodlust and murderous intent, their weapons spraying bullets and death wildly into the air. With every trukk or buggy lost, two more roared forward to take its place, simply rumbling over the wreckage, every ork vying for his chance to draw human blood.

Mekwrekka's tank roared with the report of its main gun, the front of the tank jumping skyward, it's superchargers screaming in protest. In the distance, one of the human tanks exploded, the turret flipping high into the air, spinning about wildly before thundering down, landing atop the human lines. Rotfang grinned wildly as he swore to Gork he could hear crunching bones and human screams when in landed. The enemy lines were only a few hundred paces away now as Rotfang hauled himself up, mounting a foot on the metal bar, raising his chain axe and dakka gun, letting the motor on the axe rip violently, screaming as the teeth spun, the friction causing them to glow the color of the setting sun. The dakka gun sprayed wildly forward, the bullets cutting an erratic yellow line through the air towards the humans ahead.

"Get 'em, boyz!" Mekwrekka roared, waving a massive klaw forward. "WAAAGH!" Behind them, Rotfang could hear explosions amid the roar of a thousand charging vehicles, listening to the echoing screech as Stormboyz launched into the howling gale from the back of charging trukks, careening through the sky on wild trajectories. Some took off in erratic directions, carried away by the wind, but even then, as Rotfang looked skyward, hundreds more of the streaks marred the sky as the orange glow of Stormboyz started to converge on the human positions, falling back to the surface. In several places the sky and snow was briefly lit by the brilliant glow of bolter fire turned skyward, streams of golden tracers lighting the horizon like the morning dawn, crossing with the orange glow of Stormboyz beginning their landing burns. More explosions dotted the sky like small angry suns for moments as the boyz exploded from enemy fire or malfunction. More exploded when they hit the ground, casting fountains of earth skyward as they impacted, many mixed with blood and human bits, casting them across the ground in a fine mist. The roar of engines was replaced with the roar of cannon fire as the ork tanks started blasting away, their engines howling, sending tons of steel forward over uneven ground, fighting the report of their guns, pushed to their very limits by the ork drivers and their wild mekboy creators. The scent of bruning powder was nearly enough to drive Rotfang wild, the nob's desire to maim and kill practically boiling over now.

An ork biker roared past, cutting Rotfang's trukk off. The driver didn't slow, but the gunner roared in indignation, aiming his weapon and emptying a long burst into the biker. The nob onboard roared as he ditched his vehicle, the bike exploding and rolling end over end before the driver simply ran it over, the trukk merely bumping as it passed over the fire-billowing bike. Rotfang roared his approval, shooting a burst of dakka at the ill-fortuned nob, but he disappeared beneath the wheels of another trukk that was jockeying for the lead of the charge.

The gunner didn't stop firing, simply turning his stream of shoota rounds forward, aiming in the general direction of the orange pinpricks of light that flashed over head from the trenches. "Lez go, boyz!" Rotfang roared, pushing himself up, perching a leg on the retaining bar, watching as the trukk roared forward towards the enemy lines. Rotfang threw himself from the vehicle, dropping into the trench, immediately opening up with his dakka gun as he rolled to his feet, the barrels roaring as they sprayed golden death into the panicked humans. "Die, oomie skum!" Rotfang roared, watching the humans start to swim in their own blood as it filled the trenches, the roar of vehicles passing overhead, explosions echoing from all sides as ork vehicles blew up, some killed by enemy fire, others crashing into bunkers, tanks ,and trenches and going up in fireballs.

The din of battle was deafening as thousands of weapons rattled, the report of explosions and the sharp crack of grenades and the pulse of human laser fire all echoing like an orchestra of death and destruction. The ozone scent of human lasgun fire mixed with the chemical burn of ork propellant, the heavy stench of thick smoke from vehicle fire lingering along the battlefield, and the sweet smell of torn and sundered flesh, both human and ork.

For Rotfang, this was bliss. His chain axe was whetted with human blood already, but even then the blood of a few human grunts wasn't enough. He needed more.

"Boss!" One of his 'ard boyz called. The nob twisted about, seeing the ork charging up at stairwell, his weapons roaring, the flash of gunfire casting an eerie shadow on the wall. Rotfang hoisted his axe, using it to smash the skull of a human who was crawling along the trench before tearing off after the ork.

"Zoggin' oomies ain' even puttin' up a figh'!" Rotfang snarled. It was time to search out more. "Boyz!" He bellowed, turning and seeing his 'ard boyz turn to look, their heavily armored forms lumbering forward towards him as he turned and charged down the trench, the satisfying squish and crunch of human remains echoing under foot.

They emerged from the trench, the rest of his 'ard boyz coming out, most of them blasting away at anything that moved within the human encampment, be it ork or human. Trukks and buggies roared about, twisting back and forth through the encampment as Mekwrekka dismounted his tank, the ground shaking underfoot as he thundered forward. A stout human tank rolled backwards, its engine smoking, a hole in its armor as it turned, its turret tracking about, turning to acquire the warboss. Rotfang felt his heart race as he watched the human vehicle take aim.

The cannon roared, but as Rotfang turned, hoping to see Mekwrekka's git-like face splattered across the tundra, the golden shimmer of his force field caught his eye. The cannon round exploded on the bubble, the explosion rolling over the surface of the shield, obscuring it with black smoke. For several seconds the warboss was obscured and Rotfang couldn't see anything more, but a terrifying, almost feral roar echoed from within the cloud as the warboss thundered forward. He tackled the tank, the vehicle's end rising up into the air, the treads tearing into the soil, shooting mud and ice across the battlefield as Mekwrekka grabbed the turret with both of his hands. The tank groaned as Mekwrekka braced his foot against the tank's hull, fire shooting from the ork's armor as he roared, tearing the tank's turret clean from the body, tossing it aside as if it were a squig that had tasted funny. Mekwrekka raised his weapon arm, flames jumping from the scorcha under his klaw. He lower his arm to the tank's body, flooding the insides of the vehicles with flames, fire leaking from every port, the sound of screaming humans echoing inside.

Rotfang grimaced. _Zoggin' mega armour._

The nob turned, looking for prey, his blood boiling from beneath his green skin as he searched for a target, desperate to find something to take his mind off of Mekwrekka. He spotted a small hold out of humans atop a rise at the center of the compound, their puny lasguns still firing as they tried to pick off the mass of teeming orks that now flooded the bunkers and trenches. The building looked almost untouched, and Rotfang roared triumphantly. "Wiv me, boyz!" He called, rallying his 'ard boyz. Some of them looked confused, but as their nob took off up the hill, they seemed to notice the humans firing upon their ork brethren. Some let out roars of indignation, others simply fired their 'eavy shootas at the entrenched humans, bounding up the hill behind Rotfang.

However, Rotfang noticed, his boyz were not the only orks who had noticed the presence of still living humans within the encampment. A tank, painted red and covered with spikes was grinding over the trenches, turning its guns on the enemy emplacement. Its cannon roared as it fired, the round missing wide, the explosion lighting the inside of the bunker.

"Daz mine!" Rotfang bellowed, lumbering forward, his 'eavy armor weighing him down. A rocket, a trail of white smoke raced from the bunker, striking the clanking tank. For a moment, nothing happened, but suddenly the hatches opened and the ork crew piled out. The tank exploded in a particularly satisfying manner as Rotfang howled a menacing laugh at the tank crew who looked surprised and lost without the smoke-belching, clanking deathtrap around them.

Beyond them, ork troops swarmed the last human tank as it roared backwards from its bunker in the ground, its barrels glowing orange as they continued blasting away, the bolter fire chewing through the ork lines. Rotfang grinned, watching as a tankbusta clawed his way onto the top of the human tank, drawing a tankhammer from his back and lifting it high above his head. The ork roared as it swung down, exploding, the tank bursting into flames and exploding seconds later as the magazine went up. There wasn't much left of the tankbusta either, only a pair of boots sitting atop the burning hulk of a tank.

Rotfang and his boyz found themselves at the top of the hill. What he had thought was just another bunker at the very top had actually turned out to be the tip of some human structure, the grey human rock laid out along the ground in a great sheet. Long ago Rotfang had learned that humans poured their liquid rock on top of things they wanted to protect, so naturally the best bits of the human base must be under the artificial stone. He looked around for a way to get underneath; humans liked stairs, but they also had great mechanical lifts they used sometimes too. Enough bashing and it would give way, if that was what it came to.

"Why'd we stop?" One of the boyz grunted between long bursts of shoota fire. "Da oomies iz righ' ova der!" Rotfang looked at the ork who had stopped and grunted. The one who had raised the fuss was easily the largest of his boyz, though he was particularly thick skulled, even by ork standards.

Rotfang snarled at the 'ard boyz, shoving him aside as he started scanning the ground. He grinned massively when he saw a hole descending into the ground only a few paces away. "Diz way, boyz. We'z gah' lossa oomies ta kill!"

"Wher'?" The 'ard boy growled, turning and looking down the hole, spitting on the ground. "Zog da 'ole. Der oomies ova 'ere. Maybe dere oomies in da 'ole. Zog da 'ole, I say." He turned, roaring as he blasted away with his 'eavy shoota, letting loose a maniacal laugh as he trotted off, leaving the rest of the boyz looking confused. Some of the boyz peeled off, but Rotfang only grinned.

"Mo' fo' me, den." He rumbled, turning and taking off at a jog, making for the hole in the duracrete. There was light shining from within. "Gork doin' me da fava." He rumbled, laughing, jumping down, hitting the stairs and crashing to the bottom. He roared in anger as he picked himself up off the ground, cursing the humans and their lack of ramps. Suddenly, the roar of a human weapon echoed through the hall, casting him with the debris of the wall and the stairs behind him. Though he couldn't hear it, the nob could smell the ozone stench of the human lasguns. The chatter of the human bolter trailed off, the lasgun fire shortly after that.

 _Zoggin' stairs!_ Rotfang grunted as he looked back, seeing just how much of the stairs had been ripped away by the human's heavy bolter. _Maybe Mork was lookin' ou' fo me wit' dem stairs…_

However, the thought was immediately cleared from his mind as the sound of human lasfire and the jaw rattling report of a human heavy bolter echoed down the hallway again. The crack of rounds passing around him banished the thoughts of stairs from his mind as he allowed himself a vicious grin. He had been right. _Oomies._

His 'ard boyz came tumbling down the stairs behind him, grumbling at first, but they quickly shoved their groaning, realizing that there were humans at the far end of the hall. They pushed up against the wall at the bottom of the stairs as the chatter of heavy bolter fire cut down the hall in scythes, finding the holes in one of the boyz' armor, practically splitting him in half.

"Oomies!" One of the boyz roared victoriously, barging past the nob, rushing the hallway. "WAAAGH!" He didn't last much longer, but a number of shots could be heard ricocheting off his plating before exploding into the wall. His warcry was drowned out by the bolter fire, and when the gun clacked empty, there was only silence from the 'ard boy. The familiar rattled of human guns reloading echoed down the hallway. Rotfang stepped into the hall and leveled his dakka gun, seeing human faces peering out from behind sandbags. The dakka gun whirred for a second before Rotfang let loose, filling the corridor with death, the big shoota simply chewing up human stone, sandbag and flesh alive. Rotfang sank back as the heavy rattle of the human weapon returned, blazing down the hall again, sweeping towards Rotfang as he dropped, drawing a bomb from his hip. He scraped the striker along the wall, rewarded with a sizzling explosive for the effort, sparks spraying from the top. He waited two breaths and then tossed the explosive down the hallway, the explosion picking up stone and human bits and pieces, tossing them past Rotfang and his troops.

"Charge!" The nob roared, letting his boyz run past, filling the corridor with green flesh. They barreled down the hallway, roaring a wild battlecry as they charged, trampling the dead 'ard boy as they rushed past. "Ou' da way!" Rotfang roared, shoving past the boyz. The gun barrel placed in the wall at the end of the corridor twisted about, dropping and leveling with the charging ork.

"WAAAGH!" Rotfang dropped his shoulder, roaring his own wild battlecry as bolter fire pinged off his armored form. He charged the wall, picking up speed, intent to simply smash the wall and the pathetic defenders behind it. He crushed sandbags, smashing a cowering human defender against the wall with his fist as he barreled past. The wall was nearly a foot of duracrete, but weakened by the dakka, it crumbled inwards as Rotfang's massive body collided with it.

Human screams echoed out from under the rumble as Rotfang started wildly swinging his chain axe, coating the walls in blood and shards of the feeble human armor. Rotfang grunted, feeling something akin to a punch from another nob hitting him in the gut, looking down as seeing a human with a short looking shoota trembling in his hands, the barrel smoking. Rotfang roared at him, swinging his axe around his body, bringing it up over his head and smashing it down onto the human, leaving scant more that a red and black grease stain marking the shallow crater in the duracrete. Rotfang turned, looking for more, but the humans were already dead to the rest of his eager boyz, their weapons smoking, fist sized craters in the walls where many of their shots had gone wild.

"Daz a 'uge dor." One of the boyz muttered, tapping the tip of his shoota on the metal. He grunted, taking a step back, leveling his weapon with the massive armored sheet of concrete and metal. He let loose, shoota rounds bouncing wildly about till one hit him in the face and splattered what little brains he had across the ceiling.

"Stewpid gitz." Rotfang muttered, shaking his head. "Oi, you gitz, one uv ya go git me a tankbusta." He turned back to the wall. "Derz oomies in 'ere an' I wanna stompz dem." None of the boyz moved as Rotfang turned and roared at them. The smallest of the 'ard boyz lumbered off, grumbling. Rotfang sent a blast of shoota fire after the retreating ork, hurrying him into a galloping run, his heavy armor clanking as he did.

Rotfang spent the next few minutes banging on the door, using the tip of his dakka like a hammer, some of his boyz' grenades, and simply running at it, but all he ended up doing was scratching the surface with his chain axe and darkening the surface with soot. Rotfang was roaring at the door in frustration when the ork he had sent returned with a tankbusta in tow "Goh one, boss."

"Oi, took yaz lon' 'nough." Rotfang grumbled, grabbing the tankbusta by the head, picking him up and setting him down in front of the door. "Bus' down dis door." Rotfang ordered.

"Why shud Iz?" The tankbusta croaked with a craggily, high-pitched voice. He had a crooked nose that looked like it had been broken a number of times before for talking back to other larger orks.

"Cuz da oomies are behin' da door, and if yaz don', Iz gunna stick yaz an' all ya boomy stuff agains' da dor and see wuh Mork dinks, ya Zog'ead." The tankbusta looked annoyed but nodded, starting to pull his explosive payload from his body. Rotfang watched as he pulled a bandolier of dynamite from around his chest, an anti-tank mine, a number of frag grenades, a bulging bag probably full of explosives, and a few spare rokkits. He grumbled as he worked, placing the mines against the door so they would pierce the armor. The diminutive ork stepped back, admiring his work before waddling back down the hallway, picking his way over the human remains and the rubble of the wall that Rotfang as smashed. Rotfang jostled his boyz back down the hall despite their protests, finally marshaling them back to the bottom of the steps where the tankbusta stood waiting, his rokkit launcha resting on his shoulder. _Zoggin' tankbusta._

"You boyz ready?" The tankbusta squeaked, looking about. Rotfang growled impatiently and the tankbusta lowered his goggles into place. "'Ight. Fiya in da 'ole!" The ork lowered his rokkit launcha and let a rokkit fly, the backblast spraying heat and fire back along the stairs as the rokkit flew down the hallway. Rotfang and his boyz ducked, bracing for the explosion.

There was a soft, distant crack and then silence.

"Wut?" Rotfang grumbled, glaring at the tankbusta. "Wud ya do, ya stewpid git?" The diminutive ork frowned, scratching his head, glaring down the hallway and then looking down at his launcha, as if it was defective. He shook it for a second before muttering a curse.

"Da rokkit hit…" He muttered, starting forward.

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the bunker, a wall of flame jetting along the hallway, consuming the tankbusta in a wall of fire. Smoke poured out after the flames, billowing down the hall. As the smoke cleared, all that was left was the tankbusta, his front half blackened and covered in soot, a surprised expression on his face as he cackled happily. "Dere yaz go, boss! Wut dor!?"

Lasgun fire from down the hall told Rotfang that the door was in fact clear. "CHARGE!" He bellowed, rounding the corner and letting loose with his dakka gun, spraying bullets wildly down the hallway as he lumbered forward, picking up momentum as he barreled forward, roaring a wild warcry as he boyz piled down the hall behind him, firing wildly around him, roaring their battlcries. "WAAAGH!" Rotfang dropped his shoulder, striking the door, knocking the shattered remains of the metal aside as he shouldered through. Lasfire poured wildly from the inside, smoke thick in the air. Shoota fire started to echo through the room as the boyz piled into the room, smashing the wounded humans with their axes and clubs, pumping shoota rounds into anything that moved in the smoke and gloom.

The roar of gunfire and the din of battle faded as Rotfang ripped his axe from the remains of a particularly large human. He grinned, looking around, seeing blood pooling, his boyz covered in human gore, their weapons smoking, their axes and clubs dripping with human remains. A cough caught his attention.

There was a human laid against the back wall, intestines spilling from his guts where a shoota had passed through his stomach. He groaned, pulling a puny human weapon from his hip, his skin sickly and pale even by human standards. He tried to raise the weapon in a shaking hand but Rotfang raised his armored boot and smashed both the weapon and his hand upon the floor, roaring in the man's face as he let out a silent scream. The human's mouth moved, brokenly speaking their native tongue, but Rotfang couldn't understand it.

 _"You… dirty… savages."_ Rotfang grunted, laughing at the human's pain, raising his axe up above his head, roaring as he brought it down like a sledgehammer. Blood splattered up the wall in a crimson fountain. Rotfang grunted in an amused laugh as gore gushed from the human's crushed neck, the copper scent of human blood now thick in the room. Rotfang rumbled happily as he ripped his axe free, listening to it dripping with gore and human blood, looking about, sniffing the air for more humans.

Rotfang sniffed the air curiously, barking a quick roar at the boyz as they roared and chattered with excitement. They quieted slowly, the distant sound of a muffled human voice echoing from somewhere deeper inside the duracrete bunker. "Dere's mo' oomies 'idin 'ere." He rumbled softly, peering into the gloom, seeing the dark outlines of a door along the back wall. The ork nob lumbered up to the door, pausing just outside it, listening to sounds inside. _Zoggin' boyz._

 _"Have the orks gone?"_

 _"Shush! I can't hear over your blabbering!"_

 _Oomies._ Rotfang grinned, raising his axe up like a club, stepping to the side of the door, swinging it like a bat. He roared as he swung, the door caving under the force, ringing like a tank's armor hit by a cannon. "WAAGH!" The ork roared as he rounded the corner, noting with satisfaction that he had knocked the door from its frame, squishing a human underneath the heavy metal as it had flown inwards. Inside, all sorts of human contraptions beeped and moaned with mystic energies, a ghostly image showing on top of a glowing contraption at the very center. Rotfang's eyes went wide. _Mork zoggin' Gork…_

Las fire blasted over his head, two humans across the road standing before another, his face panicked as he yelled at one of the heavy looking human contraptions. The two humans looked terrified as he lumbered forward, smashing the heavy boxes aside, sparks and crackling electricity bouncing from wires as they flew across the room. Rotfang smashed one human aside, listening to the crunch of his bones as he hit the wall, slouching down into a bag of meat and broken bones. The other human screamed, clamping his finger down on his weapon, blasting shot after shot of the glowing energy into the ork as he raised his fist, smashing the human's face in, his head hitting the stone ground, bouncing once before he fell flat. The third human hadn't even noticed, still franticly yelling at the box.

 _"This is Colonel Mackey of the Cedrus Defense Forces! Armageddon Sector Command, come in!"_ His voice was panicked and wild, but despite the fact that Rotfang couldn't understand his words, he could heard the panic and terror in the humans tone as he screamed at the box, striking it with his fist. The box crackled, another human voice crackling through. Rotfang waited, watching as the human stood up taller.

 _"Cedrus, this is Imperial Command of the Amrageddon Sector. Please adju-…."_ The box crackled into fuzzy noise and the human smacked it again. _"…-cording to Imperial Protocol 18-A27-1."_

 _"Feth your protocol!"_ The human snarled. " _There are orks everywhere! Cedrus has fallen! The planet has been overru-…"_

 _Ork_. Rotfang recognized that name as he growled, taking a heavy step forward. _Zoggin' oomies._

 _"Emperor protect me…"_ The human muttered something as he turned, looking up at rotfang with massive eyes.

The human wore a peculiar looking hat, and Rotfang grinned. "Yuza oomie waaaghboss." Rotfang growled, taking the human's hat and seting it gingerly on his broad head. The human followed Rotfang's massive hands as he lowered his axe to the floor. The ork nob brought his fist up lightning quick, hitting the human with his club like arm. The officer made a small sound as if all the air had suddenly exploded from his lungs, blood pouring from his mouth as he fell to the ground. Rotfang chuckled softly as he raised his foot and then smashed the human's head into the ground.

"Oi, you gitz." Rotfang rumbled, grinning madly with his new hat as he looked down as the sticky red mass that stuck to the bottom of his boot. "Go fin' da mekboyz and Boss Mekwrekka. I jus' stomp'd da oomie waaghboss."

…

"You dun gud, 'Fang." Boss Mekwrekka rumbled as he looked into the pit of the command center, most of the human's artificial stone ripped up as the mekboyz scurried about, doing their best to pull the human equipment out without damaging it further. Even if the mekboyz couldn't make the human boxes work the way they were originally intended, they would likely be full of lots of nice bits and pieces for them to make other ork war engines with. "You migh' jus' git da nex' set uh da Mega Arma da boyz make."

Rotfang stood up taller, grinning crookedly. _Mega Armor? Fo' me? Wit dat, takin' ol' Mekwrekka ou'll be eazy._

"You dun so gud, you an' da res' o' ya gitz git ta 'unt down da last o' da oomie survivas." Mekwrekka rumbled pointing towards the dark woods at the back of the human camp. The woods were tall and dark, snow still falling lightly, even as the storm subsided. There was an ominous moan from the woods, the dark trees shivering eerily. "I guna giv' ya sum eztra boyz too. Git sum burnas an' torchz an' make sur ya stomp evry las' one o' dem, ya 'ear me?"

"Ya, boss." Rotfang growled, grumbling softly as he turned to his 'ard boyz and the rather large crowd of boyz that the boss had put under his command. "Aw'ight you, gitz! We gun stomp da oomies!"

The boys cheered as Rotfang grumbled, turning towards the forest, sniffing the air, smelling the foul stench of humans fading into the ice and cedar. Tracks were marked in the snow. Rotfang roared, raising his axe and snarled, waving his boyz forward as they set off into the forest.

* * *

" _Hammer_ , The ork band is headed his way, Master Sergeant."

"How fare their quarry?"

"There are only a few of the PDF troops from the firebase left, sir. Should we intervene?"

"Let them come. The cowards might just earn the Emperor's Benediction when they lead the orks into our trap."

* * *

Rotfang growled as the boyz pushed forward. He was slowly cutting a swath through the forest, but the burnas had long run out of fuel, left behind as the orks continued forward, fighting the forest itself as much as the few retreating humans. As best he could make it, there were only a fistful of the humans left, some dripping blood, others slowed by the cold and the dense terrain. _Zoggin' trees._

The forest shifted slightly, a branch cracking. Rotfang froze, standing taller, his pack grinding to a halt around him, looking about wildly, trying to detect what they had obviously missed. "Wuz up, boss?" One of the 'ard boyz closest to Rotfang hissed, his 'eavy shooter raised, pointed into the forest.

Rotfang sniffed the air, smelling the sweet scent human flesh and the cold tang of gunmetal and human engine oil. The stench was heavy. "Dere's oomie blud in da air." He murmured.

"Blud, boss?" The boy repeated, growling, confused. "Init da gud?"

"We'z wuz chasin' live oomies." Rotfang muttered. "Nah ded onez."

"Da forres' cuda dun dem in…" The 'ard boy murmured.

"Cuda…" Rotfang murmured, sniffing the air. "Lez go. We godda fin' dem fo' da Boss." Rotfang took the lead, following his nose, moving slowly through the snowy forest. He followed a path down along a gulley, ducking under a fallen tree, grunting as he slipped and slid along the ground. The boyz behind him were growing restless, their torches cast harsh shadows in the forest around them. Rotfang paused, the boyz sliding to a halt behind him as his motley troop crashed into each other and tripped over trees and their own feet.

"Gimme da torch." Rotfang growled, grabbing one from one of the burna boyz. The ork started to protest, but the nob smashed his fist into the side of the smaller ork's head, quelling his protests. "Shu' da zog up, ya gitz." The muttering and voices of the boyz slowly faded till there was an eerie silence in the forest. Rotfang scanned the edge of the gulley above them, noticing that there was a tree branch along the far end that had broken into a particularrly round circle. He blinked a few times, looking into the gloom, but he couldn't find the circle again. _Zoggin' shadoz._

"Zog yo-.." The burna boy's voice gurgled as Rotfang smashed his throat, watching the ork fall to the ground, clawing at his neck.

"Stewpid git." Rotfang muttered, he cocked his arm back, tossing the torch down to the bottom of the gulley. It bounced once off the crust of ice atop the snow, skittering to a halt at the bottom of the depression. Revealed by the flickering orange light, Rotfang could see that there were a number of human corpses piled at the bottom, blood splattered across the snow. He sniffed the air, catching a hint of ozone from human lasguns, on top of all the other scents he had detected before. The torch spluttered for a few seconds before casting the gulley back into darkness as it extinguished, melting into the snow. "I dun lik dis…"

"Wut, ya scured?" One of the boyz cackled. "Ya tryin ta be one o' doz kommando boyz, Boss?" He too hit the ground, gurgling like the burna git, clutching his throat.

"Rotfang dunit ge' scured." Rotfang growled softly, sucking in his chest, puffing it out, letting his axe rest on his shoulder. He led the boyz down into the bottom on the gulley, watching them slip and slide till they were all gathered in the small basin. He picked up one of the human corpses, sniffing it curiously, holding the body up, letting warm blood drip from the limp form. "Iz stil warm…"

Something made a distant but heavy ' _thunk'_ sound, followed by a high pitched whine. Every one of the orks froze, looking around for the source of the noise. A brilliant light fizzled to life high above, casting harsh white light along the gulley.

"Wut in da name o' Mork iz dat…" One of the boyz muttered.

Rotfang started to raise his fist up again, but an angry red lance cut across the basin, striking him in the throat, sending him crashing to the ground.

Dark human forms stood up all around the gulley, their lasrifles trained upon every one of the orks. The whine of tank turrets turning and the grinding of guns lowering echoed through the silent forest. A human tank roared to life, charging over the edge of the gulley, grinding to a halt and sliding a bit along the slope, perched on the lip, looking down into the depression. Its massively long gun turned, the barrel leveling with the ork nob. Rotfang recognized the circle. The center of the gun barrel looked like a black abyss, darker than even the blackest void of space.

For the first time, Grimlug Rotfang knew fear.

One of the boyz roared, firing his weapon at the ambushers.

The gulley exploded in light, the deafening roar of human lasgun fire, ork shootas, and the thunderous roar of tank guns cracking, their rounds chewing up earth, ork and ice without discrimination. Rotfang let his head fall back as he roared a defiant battlecry, pumping his axe above his head. He charged forward, only part of his mind seeing the report and flash of that long tank cannon.

Something exploded right in front of Rotfang, an suddenly his vision nothing but the darkened grey sky. Something heavy weighed upon his chest, as if he had been hit with a warhammer right in the center of the armor that covered his torso.

The sounds of battle tapered off to an eerie silence. The shouts of man filled the air as boots crunched through snow and ice, growing louder and louder around Rotfang. His heart began to race, the cold slowly grasping at him.

The mechanical clank and rumble of a tank crawling forward shook the ground beneath Rotfang's back.

 _Zoggin' tank…_

The sound of the tank cut out as the rumbling ceased, replaced by a violent ringing in his head.

 _Zoggin' head…_

Rotfang tried to sit up, but for some reason, he couldn't move his legs.

 _Zoggin' legs…_

He groped for his weapons, but his arms couldn't find purchase.

 _Zoggin' arms…_

A human stepped over him, his shadow darkening the sky over the nob. The sensation of cold gunmetal pressed to his head caused Grimlug Rotfang to close his eyes.

 _Zoggin' Oom-…_

The ork's brains were splattered all over the snow.

* * *

"A few dozen orks dead, _Hammer_. Was that really worth the cost?"

"Yes. Now there's only a few million left."

"You don't think we can kill them all, do you?"

"You heard the Vox. Mackey finally got through to Armageddon, whether they acknowledged his warning or not. They know Cedrus has fallen. Now, It's only a matter of time."

"You didn't answer the question, _Hammer_."

"…I don't care if I do kill 'em all, but by the Emperor, I'll drag every last damnable Ork I can straight to hell."


	4. Chapter 1: Cedrus

Lord Admiral Greyarch looked out the window of his office, pausing before the heavily set porthole. The vistaplate was easily as thick as the admiral was tall, and the armor plating that surrounded it was likely twice, if not three times that. It was thick enough to withstand any withering assault at least.

He regarded the bleak view of the distant landscape with disinterest, staring blankly past the massive hive cities on the horizon, each home to billions of residents, each representing a fraction of a percentage of the Imperium's population for which he was responsible. He watched as rare rays of sunshine blazed through the thick, ashen cloud cover that coated the entirety of the planet in a haze of smoke and gloom. It was rare for such sunshine to penetrate Armageddon's harsh atmosphere. He tucked his hands behind his back, crossing them at the small, simply looking out at the vastness of the distant sky and the heavens above. The God-Emperor had left an entire sector of space in the admiral's charge, and every word he spoke and every order he gave had the potential to cost billions if not trillions of human lives. He exhaled softly, letting his head sink low as he offered the Emperor a solemn prayer for guidance.

A sharp knock echoed through the high-ceilinged room, vaulted with massive bookshelves climbing up and down every wall, well-kept tomes gleaming upon the shelves, trophies of the admiral's many campaigns serving as bookends and dotting the rest of the walls. Picts of past ships and crews hung in places, and gifts of trophies given from worlds he'd served and saved were interspersed throughout.

"Enter." Greyarch ordered tersely in Imperial Gothic, letting his back remain facing the door. It was pushed open by a rather nervous looking courier who stepped inside and immediately offered the admiral a crisp salute. The admiral turned, inspecting the courier, and asside from the sweat on his brow and the manic look upon his face, he looked perfectly in order. He offered a measured but easy salute as he finished adjusting his stance, settling into a firm but martial pose as he observed the courier. He raised his head slightly, simultaneously hiding the second chin he was starting to possess and allowing him to look down his nose at the mere corporal, who looked surprisingly disheveled considering who he was in presence of at the moment.

"Lord Admiral, sir!" The guardsman barked weakly, finally dropping from attention, his panting breath starting to echo through the cavernous room. "Your presence has been requested in the command center, sir!"

"My presence?" The high officer asked. It would do well to remind the young solider just who he spoke to. "What could be so pressing as to warrant the presence of the Commander of the Imperial Navy for an entire Sector?"

"Sir..." The corporal gulped audibly, taking a deep breath and trying to put on a brave face, though as the admiral looked into his shallow eyes, he could see great fear behind the facade. "It's Planet Cedrus, sir." He gulped another greedy breath of air, trying poorly to control himself. "Cedrus has fallen, sir."

The admiral's breath caught in his threat and he choked, spluttering slightly as he struggled to regain his composure. "Fallen!? How!? What could have laid claim to an entire Imperium world so quickly!?"

"Orks, sir." The corporal said, pale faced. "Lord General Militant Septum reports that he is also already facing pressure from High Terra, and requests your presence, sir."

"High Terra? So quickly?" Greyarch echoed under his breath, straightening up, trying to hide his apprehension. The admiral straightened his tunic, the gold and silver ripple of medals and campaign ribbons on his chest shimmering in the pillar of fading sunlight that gleamed through the window. A dark bank of cloud and ash had slid into place over the few fleeting rays that had managed to cut through, casting Armageddon back into the ominous darkness of a nearly eternal night. "Very well, let us proceed." He grunted, grabbing his cap from the corner of the desk and gesturing to the dark shadow in the corner. "Come Vigo." He ushered the cloaked figure forward, the heavy reverberations of the monstrous abhuman guided him forward from the darkness, shaking the office. The corporal's eyes immediately strayed to the admiral's Ogryn Bone'ead bodyguard as he emerged from the darkness, his tank-like armor clanking with every thunderous step he took. The Ogryn looked down at him with disregard, the massive Ripper gun he carried held at the ready, bandoliers of spare ammunition crisscrossing his chest.

"Aye, s-sir." The corporal stammered, his voice catching in his throat as he looked upon the titanic soldier, clad in nigh-impenetrable carapace armor made from the plating of a Leeman Russ tank. The bodyguard took up a position behind the admiral, letting the corporal move to the door guide the admiral through a myriad of checkpoints and guard posts, winding deeper and deeper through the halls of the hive. They finally emerged into a massive darkened hall, the walls lined with cogitators, the floor filled with hundreds of hololiths, the bustle of thousands of servitors, adepts, and imperial servants going about their duty, moving to and fro amid what amounted to a display of highly disciplined and regulated chaos. To the untrained eye it looked like madness had gripped the entire hive, but to the admiral, this was business as normal. The corporal lead them to the central dais where officers ranking from lowly Lieutenants to Lord Generals milled about, eyeing a large world glowing upon a monstrously large hololith display that emanated from a depression at the center of the large raised platform that observed the rest of the mausoleum-like control chamber.

A man with a peak-billed officer's cap and a bushy mustache turned to salute the approaching admiral, his jowls just starting to show beneath the facial hair. "Welcome, Lord Admiral." Hundreds of personnel snapped to attention, saluting the officer, even more remaining attentively attuned to their hololiths and pict-screens as important information scrolled past.

"Lord General Militant Septum." The admiral acknowledged, shaking the man's hands officiously. "You requested my presence. Report."

The general offered an adept lost somewhere in the masses a discrete wave, and suddenly the hololith at the center of the dias burst to life, shrinking and starting to rotate slowly, seas of blue burning upon the faintly azure planet, soft green continents burning amid the oceans. The poles were icy white, and along the continents the white had begun to creep further inwards along the land masses, marking the advance of winter.

"Agri-shrine world Cedrus, more properly know as Cedrus Prime, of the Justicar Sub-sector." General Septum gestured to the world before them. "Approximately three standard imperial days ago, an Ork Rok likely originating from somewhere in the Golgotha Sub-sector crashed onto the planet, unleashing what is believed to be a new ork campaign upon the Imperium." The general gestured to the hololith again and the map magnified, rotating to place the largest of the continents before the admiral. A massive red spot half covered the circle marked with the name 'Atlas'. "The Rok made planet fall upon the world's capital city, annihilating much of the planet's defensive forces, as well as a fair portion of the population in the attack. Subsequent ork attacks have nearly purged the planet of human life, and we believe only stragglers and settlers on the outer reaches of colonized areas of the planet remain alive." He paused, waiting for a possible reaction from the admiral, but the ranking officer simply watched on with a grim expression. The general cleared his throat before continuing. "Approximately four standard hours ago, the last remaining human holdout, a small firebase of Planetary Defense Forces that had been away on training exercises at the time of the rok's descent fell to the might of the amassed ork army."

The hololith zoomed in again, slipping past what appeared to be a second city, focusing in on a small blue dot that bordered a darkened region that dominate the entire left reach of the continent. "From what we can gather, the regiment of troops was on training exercises in the planet's densely packed Black Forest when the attack came. Due to the swiftness of the attack, planetary vox capabilities were knocked out within hours of the ork attack, and it prevented astropathic communications, which is why we are only hearing about this now."

"How do we know about this, general, if the inter-planetary vox was disabled and there was no astropath present to communicate the information with?" Admiral Greyarch asked, looking at the man's twitching mustache.

"A cargo freighter had just arrived in system when the attack began on the firebase." The general offered, gesturing to a small blue dot that floated high above the continent. Vox equipment was strong enough at the fire base to contact the ship, and the ship relayed the information here via stropath at the request of the commander before the freighter was chased from the system by what the captain described as an Ork Pirate Fleet." He paused, looking to the dot. "The ship only just arrived in system with further details and information, and relayed this message, which it recorded before it was chased to the warp from the system by Ork Ships."

"An Ork fleet?" The admiral mused, stroking his goatee. He frowned. Rare were ork forces that were so well equipped and effectively organized, combining space and ground forces. Usually the ork pirates stuck to themselves. The ork warboss must have been exceptionally clever and dangerous. He grunted. "Play the message."

The vox recording crackled to life, the command mausoleum falling to an eerie silence. A sharp bang and an orkish roar started the vox-recording, echoing sharply through the entire room. Static washed through the room in waves, a distant human voice faint through the white noise. The static faded for a second as the officer started yelling. " _This is Colonel Mackey of the Cedrus Defense Forces! Armageddon Sector Command, come in!"_ Static cut through the recording as an official voice responded. _"Cedrus, this is Imperial Command of the Armageddon Sector. Please adjust your vox-communication settings to match Imperium Astra Millitarum standards according to Imperial Protocol 18-A27-1."_ The voice was calm and collected, but there was a jerk at the corner of the admiral's mouth as he continued listening, remaining silent. _"Feth your protocol! There are orks everywhere! Cedrus has fallen! The planet has been overru-…"_ The voice cut off, but this time there was no static, only the distinctly menacing rumble of an ork. _"WAAAAAGH!_ " The roar was thunderous. _"Emperor protect me…"_

A soldier's eyes went wide as if he knew what was coming. There was a moment of orken grunting in their native tongue, followed by silence. A deathly crunch followed by a sickening crack and splatter echoed through the vox. Mirthful ork laughter was followed by the report of a weapon before the vox-recording ended.

The distinctive splatter of a number of soldiers losing their last meal echoed through the command mausoleum.

"As you just heard, sir." The general looked a tad green in the cheeks, but the admiral had to give him credit, he belied no other squeamishness. "The orks hit hard and fast and crushed the entire human population in a matter of days. We have not seen orks so well organized in nearly a century."

The admiral grunted. "Cedrus is simply a small agri-shrine world." He watched the general, looking for some reaction. "Why does this planet warrant such a serious reaction?"

"I might be able to explain that, Lord Admiral." A man clad in the crimson robes of the Ecclesiarchy stepped forward, his green mechanical eye glimmering brightly from beneath his hood in the mausoleum's dim light. The robes were ornate, dressed with gold and white decoration, a massive tome hanging from the man's waist by a thick chain, an ornate laspistol on the opposite hip.

"Arch-Deacon Galerius." Admiral Greyarch announced, slightly surprised to see the Ecclesiarch official away from his shrine further within the depths of the city. The admiral bowed courteously, a thin smile lighting upon the crimson-robed figure's face. "To what do we owe this honor?"

"I come with a request of one of my dear friends within the Ecclesiarchy." Galerius said softly. There was something in his voice that was slightly off when he had spoken the words 'dear friend', but there was little vehemence in his tone and he belied no negative intention. The admiral nodded slowly, acknowledging that the request came directly from High Terra. "This information comes as extremely disturbing to Lord Cedra VI, finding out that his home planet has fallen to the ork scourge."

"Who?" General Septum muttered, raising an eyebrow. The admiral shriveled his nose at the general's tactlessness, but little could be expected of the Imperial Guard. Despite the general's tone, the admiral as well struggled to recollect the origin of the man's power.

"My lord Cedra VI wished me to convey his desire to keep the planet from which he and every one of his forefathers originated from the hands of the ork menace." He paused for a moment, digging a scroll from his robes. "I bear a request of my lord." He handed it over, and the admiral accepted and unrolled it, his eyes dancing over the parchment. "It is of the utmost importance."

The admiral sucked in a surprised gasp, his eyes bulging as he read. "The Adepta Sororitas are being deployed to cleanse the planet?" He eyes continued over the paper before he froze. "A High Lord of Terra!?" He coughed into his hand, rolling the scroll up and returning it to the waiting Ecclesiarch official. "I understand the gravity of the situation, Deacon. What does your lord wish for the planet?"

The red hooded figure offered the admiral a cold smile, only the way a snake would look to one it was sure would die in a single strike. "He wishes the ork scum eradicated with every ounce of force you have available, but he wishes the planet to maintain its bounty as well as its beauty, and he is respectfully requesting that you quickly mobilize a force to prevent the ork infestation from taking. The Adepta Sororitas of the Order of Our Martyred Lady will be slower coming from where they are stationed upon Ophelia VII unfortunately, as all other orders more readily located are consumed with far more pursuant tasks, and that is why my lord wishes you to send a vanguard." The Deacon swept forward towards the admiral, leaning in as he dropped his voice low. "My lord would be eternally indebted to you, Admiral, if you were able to retake his planet. You can see how easily he holds sway over even the Adepta Sororitas. There are few who have planets named after them within the Lords of Terra, and my Lord Cedra VI draws much of his power and prestige from its presence."

"O-of course." The admiral stammered as the crimson robed man stepped back, offering him another snake-like smile. "It will take weeks to organize a proper force at such short notice, but-…"

"Lord Admiral, if I might interject." A deep voice offered. There was gaunt, cold faced officer with a pointed nose that had stepped forward, his hands clasped respectfully at his back. "Begging your pardon, my liege, but my army has only just return from the Elysia system where we just received the last of this year's tithes from the sector. My troops have not yet been relieved from their berths upon their transports and are ready to deploy at a moment's notice. I would be most honored if you granted me command to lead the assault."

"General Victus." Admiral Greyarch rumbled. He was hesitant to throw such forces upon an ork army with such ease, but a High lord of Terra who owed him a favor would be more than worth the cost of any lives lost in the struggle. He grumbled softly, shaking his head. "With Lord General Militant Septum's permission…" He looked to the general who merely nodded his consent. "Very well, you and Admiral von Haaden with take your army and the Victoria Battlegroup of Battlefleet Armageddon and will move to Planet Cedrus. I leave how you repel the ork invaders up to you."

"Thank you sir." The general bowed deep. His eyes were cold and hawk-like has he stood up, looking at the admiral. "My forces will crush the orks summarily, sir."

"General, I would like to volunteer my services." The robed deacon said quickly. "I have my lord's knowledge of the planet at my disposal, and it may prove invaluable in the coming battles." The general looked hesitant, but the Ecclesiarch official's determination rivaled his own as they locked eyes for a moment. There was a fanatical fire burning in his one good eye, and the mechanical bloom of the replacement only added to the intensity. "I will also be able to liaise with the Adepta Sororitas upon the arrival of their Commandery."

"You are welcome to observe." General Victus growled, the hostility evident in this voice. The Deacon offered him a cold smile that Victus forcefully returned. It was like watching a snake sizing up a hawk before its dive. "Together, we shall see Cedrus liberated."

"See that you do." The admiral grunted, turning to the nervous looking corporal who had been standing there the entire time, his expression that of fear and the desire not to find his way back into the middle of these powerful men as they played their political games. "Send for Admiral von Haaden and have proceed to the shuttle bay omega at once. You shall depart as soon as your transports join with his fleet, General. May the Emperor guide you."

"And may his light bless us and smite our foes." The general echoed, turning on his heel and sweeping from the mausoleum, the red-robed Ecclesiarch official following close behind him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Pilot, bring us into a stable orbit over the primary continent, and have the fleet come about on our flank." Admiral von Haaden was a stout man, more broad that fat, his chest like a barrel, his jawline hard and lined as if it had been chiseled from son. His brown hair was just shot with grey, making his age difficult to determine, but his eyes were cold and measured. "Master Gunner, bring up our void shields and power up the weaponry." Servitors and adepts jumped to their stations, the uniformed officer in charge of all the ships weaponry barking further orders to his subordinates to begin powering the weapons and shields up as his subordinates went about their duties carrying out his orders. "Astropath, send word to Armageddon that we have arrived in system safely." The massive battleship rumbled under the captain's feet as the engines burned, slowly pushing the ship towards the indicated position. The captain turned, his eyes watching as the rest of his ships dropped from warp, blinking into existence on the hololith. They slowly began to move, starting to form on his ship, the cruisers and transports spreading out.

"Engiseer Prime, how fairs the Triumph?" The admiral asked, clicking his boot upon the decking, pushing himself from his command throne and unplugging his neural link to the ships cogitator network. He felt the cold chill of the information pulling from his mind and he shivered, dropping down from his command dais, approaching a large hololith display that stood empty for the moment.

"All systems operational." The mechanical voice of the Tech-Priest Majoris croaked. The hulking being shifted under his robes, the mechanical arm behind him swiveling and turning, watching other crewman as they scurried about as if it had a mind of its own. "Engines are nominal, and power output is hold steady at fifty percent of full."

"Very good." The admiral mused, indulging himself in a smile. His crew was far above competent, and they were both motivated and efficient.

"Admiral, auspex has detected ork ships moving to engage." An adept reported from his seat before a massive cogitator. The wires that ran from the crewman bounced as he turned his head, reading over text visible only to him. The admiral frowned, seeing red blips appear upon the hololith, a ragged battle line of ork ships forming up and starting their burn towards his now assembled fleet.

"Put it on the main hololith." The admiral ordered, turning towards the large orb that blinked to life, resolving into the shape of Cedrus.

"All ships are now safely emerged from warp, admiral." The herald called. "And General Victus is requesting an audience, milord." The bridge officer was responsible for all vox communications within the fleet.

"Have him report to the bridge." The admiral murmured, not letting his eyes stray from the hololith of the space around Cedrus. "I shall speak to him here. How long before the ork ships are within nominal engagement range?"

"One hour and seventeen minutes at predicted maximum burn, sir." A voice reported. "The ork vessels are advancing from the opposite side of the planet." A few moments passed as the admiral let his eyes follow the red orbs of the ork fleet as they came, moving slowly towards the blue orbs of the admiral's flotilla of ships. "The fleet appears to be mostly cruiser-class ships, sir."

"Herald, have the fleet form up in a line of skirmish directed towards the orks and keep me apprised of any changes in their course or movements." The admiral nodded softly as he stepped away from the hololith, stepping up to the vista-plate that lined the main viewport of the bridge, looking out over the empty space and the massive blue orb of Planet Cedrus that dominated his view. Massive dark splotches of smoke marred the continent where the planet's two main cities had once been, and grey clouds slid around the planet slowly as the admiral watched. The main doors to the bridge slide open with a metallic groan as General Victus stepped in, his gaunt, hawk-like eyes moving around the bridge slowly, taking in the many different servants to the emperor as they moved about. His eyes found and rested on the navigator for several seconds before he straightened up, stepping forward to where the admiral was looking out over the planet. The general's guards assumed positions inside the door, standing aside the admiral's own armsmen who stood ready, their lasgun's held at the ready, held proudly across their chest.

"The planet has a strangely peaceful appearance, don't you think?" Von Haaden asked, his hands clasped behind his back as he turned, glancing at the general. He looked cross, a pinched look in his brow as he grunted.

"The fires of war burn high, visible even to us here in the heavens." The general growled, his eyes studying to distant planet as if scouring it for tactical details and information. The majesty of seeing such a planet from space appeared lost in his eyes. They narrowed suddenly as if he were appraising the fine details of a weapon.

"Something you see, general?" The admiral asked, turning, attempting to follow his gaze.

"I do not know, my eyes are used to the ground, not seeing the battlefield from on high." He grunted, turning to the auspex. He noticed the red orbs. "Interlopers?"

"It appears to be some sort of Ork Pirate Fleet." The admiral said, stepping up beside him, gesturing to the orbs. "Nothing to worry about. My battleship alone could handle a fleet as pitiful as this."

"It is not my place to tell an admiral to fight in the reaches of space, but I only offer a warning." Victus said, his eyes cold and hollow, his gaunt face taking on a ghostly cast in the glowing light of the hololith. The admiral did not rebuke his words, despite the fact that here in space the admiral had jurisdiction. "Orks are crafty, devious creatures, savage and mad. If you dismiss them so summarily, they were slide an axe through your neck as you try to chop of their head. That is, if their spacefaring brethren are similar to the ground pounders we face upon the surface."

The admiral offered the general a thin smile. "Well put, Victus, but Ork ships are not quite like fighting orks upon the ground. Here, they have no advantage in numbers, and while they can usually make up for their ramshackle wargear with sheer tonnes of green flesh, in space, that ramshackle equipment costs them far more." The admiral chuckled softly. "A single well placed blow from a lance can end an ork vessel."

"A single well placed shot from a laspistol can kill an ork, too, admiral." The general murmured, nodding his head. "But, this is your fleet." He let the admiral have his victory in the subtle battle of words before turning to the auspex readout that was displayed upon the hololithic display of planet Cedrus.

"I'm glad you understand." The admiral said with a barely veiled threat. "What did you wish to speak with me about?"

"I wanted to consult with you about the landing of my troops." The general said, gesturing to the hololith. "Once you've crushed the ork fleet, I want to advance your ships to the edge of orbit and begin a bombardment of this region here." He indicated a large open plane that extended to the north of one of the shattered remnants of a city. "I would like to land my forces and then take the port city to bring in heavy equipment to then move and take the capital city afterwards."

The admiral looked at the map, his hands still clutched behind his back as he moved slowly along the rotating sphere, his eyes watching the glowing surface. "Adept, begin an auspex sweep of the continent and display the results on the holo."

An adept saluted, and stepped to the cogitator and started to punch in commands via the runes. There were a few seconds of silence, only the rumble of the ship beneath their boots at the ship continued moving into position. Now, along the prow, other cruisers could be seen moving into position, the glow of their engines shining bright in the darkness of space. The admiral turned back to the map as the adept announced that the cogitator was processing displaying it momentarily. A wave of red dots started to appear, glimmering to life on the continent. There were only a few at first, but slowly, more and more red dots appeared. The sweep reached the capital and it shown a brilliant, teeming red as thousands, hundreds of thousands, of orks moved about, the dots glistening and writhing like a beating heart. There was a thick rug of red along the entire continent towards the second city, hundreds of thousands more bodies and camps that burned like rubies upon the azure continent. There was another, much larger swell of red around the second city that the general intended to land to the north of to start his siege. The sweep finished with a smattering of single red blips spread out across the plains, and the single last shimmering spot of red.

"This is the firebase where the call that eventually reached Armageddon Command originated from." The general said thoughtfully, indicating the last large shimmering mass of red to the far left side of the continent. There were vein-like threads of red dripping away from the base, disappearing into the darkened mass further west. "The orks crushed the base, eliminating the last foothold we maintained on the planet."

"No humans remain on the planet?" The admiral mused, crossing his arms over his chest, looking at the map thoughtfully. "Then why not assault the capital? There are far fewer troops present among the ruins there at current time."

"I can answer that question." The Arch-Deacon announced, moving onto the bridge with long, slow strides that gave him the appearance that he was drifting forward on a wing of air.

"Deacon Galerius." The admiral said, bowing his head. "I'd heard you were aboard. My apologies for not inviting you to speak or tour the ship. It is seldom often that I am given such short notice to mobilize my fleet. I have had many matters to which I had to attend. Do forgive me."

"Nonsense." The deacon said warmly, his kind tone belying the coldness in his one eye. "I had my own business to attend to, admiral, so please, do not let it leave you unsettled." The admiral bowed his head in thanks, but as the deacon turned to the general, the officer did not return his naval counterpart's respect. He only offered the Ecclesiarch official a curt nod before turning back to the map. "The simple answer lies in the nature of the capital's location." He said as he gestured towards the shimmering red mass. "Speaking frankly, the capital is placed within a natural valley that forms a nigh-impenetrable fortress. It would have likely been able to hold for weeks, if not months, had the ork forces not landed directly upon the northern mountains. The general is likely thinking that we must establish a beachhead first, and then eliminate the most dangerous threat, which in this case, is the ork forces concentrated in the port city of Cyprus." He said, gesturing to the city to the left.

"The deacon is correct." The general said softly. "Very astute." The deacon bowed his head at the compliment, though his eyes followed the general as he gestured to the darkened section of the continent. "Deacon, if you may, tell me what you know about this area."

"Ah, yes, the Black Forest." The deacon said thoughtfully. "Tis a treacherous place, and it is the source of much of the planets thriving lumber industry. It is incredibly dense and difficult to traverse, gnarled trees and a thick, deciduous canopy make it nigh impossible to navigate with traditional means."

"Is there anything important within?" The general asked, his temper seeming to shorten more and more with every word the deacon spoke in his airy, whimsical tone.

"Important?" The deacon asked, frowning. "It is far too heavily wooded for most to bother settling. There may be a logging camp or two, and its fair share of flora and fauna, but other than that, I can't imagine there is much of anything interesting there. It's possible there are some ancient ruins or something, I've heard there are some particularly ancient stone fortifications deep, deep within the forest, but it was my impression that they had been dismissed as unimportant buy Imperium Surveying teams."

"Regardless, I'd like to know what the orks find so interesting." General Victus growled, studying the formation of orcs that moved slowly through the forest. "These orks are strange, not the typical mindless cretins we usually encounter who throw themselves upon our bayonets. There is something strange at work here. Some evil gives speed to these creatures, setting its will against our kind."

"You speak as though someone is controlling the orks." The deacon laughed heartily. "Even the smallest child of the emperor knows that orks are mindless savages obsessed only with war. They may simply be hunting some great beast they believe to dwell within the forest for all we can discern."

"Yes…" The general mused softly, stroking his thin, pointed chin.

"You still wish to know more, don't you?" The admiral asked, seeing the curiosity knit in the general's brow.

"Yes." The general said firmly, catching a look of dismay on the deacon's face. "Admiral, I'd like to dispatch a reconnaissance flight to scout the orc's path and determine if there are survivors or important ruins or facilities along their path of advance."

The admiral looked conflicted for a moment, his gaze moving along the orks path, a swath, cut clear by the advancing orcs as they moved through the dense forest, was more than enough to plot their route. He grimaced, turning towards the vistaplate, seeing the distant planet glowing like a sapphire imposed upon the blackness of space. He sighed softly. "Very well. How long until we engage the ork fleet?" The captain barked.

"Twenty nine minutes, admiral!" An adept reported almost immediately.

"Herald, deploy light cruiser squadrons and escort squadrons along the dorsal and ventral spines of the skirmish line." The admiral snapped. "Order the _Pride of Elysia_ forward and to assume a high-atmosphere orbit and have her captain prepare a flight of Vultures for high orbital entry, long range reconnaissance loadout." The admiral turned to face the Herald, ready to convey his orders. "I want the Vultures first out and descending through the atmosphere immediately." He watched as the officer snapped off a crisp salute and jumped to carry out his orders, the clamor of hundreds of tasks all being carried out simultaneously as the bridge burst to life, servitors and adepts and crewmen all rushing to carry out their assigned duties. The admiral surveyed the chaos with satisfaction for several seconds before turning back to his two fellows. "Master of Ordinance, deploy interceptors and strike bombers and prepare for intercept. General, we will commence the drop after crushing the ork fleet. Gentlemen, both of you are welcome to remain here upon the bridge during the battle to observe."

"I must finish readying my troops, Admiral. "The general said curtly. "I must decline."

"Very well." The admiral said, nodding. "Deacon, will you observe?"

"I might take you up on your offer, admiral." The deacon said, a hungry smile on his face. "It is rare I get to observe the visceral thrill of space combat."

The general and the admiral exchanged glances before the general saluted, spun on his heel, and departed the bridge, his guardsmen following in his wake.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Orkbane One settled into his cockpit, hit the start up runes for the cockpit cogitators and other electronics. Dials glowed as glow orbs flickered to life, displaying a vast array of numbers, runes and dials. The Imperium Naval pilot settled into his seat, the padding reaching up to hold him in as he strapped himself in with the heavy restraining belts. He took a slow breath, readying the engines, hitting a specific set of runes behind him as adepts and technicians scurried around the sturdily built attack craft's hull, unhooking fueling hoses and cables that tied the Vulture gunship into the battleship around them. Lights died as the cables and hoses were removed, getting reeled back into their slots on the walls and floors. The ship began to hum softly around him as more and more systems cranked up, whining to life. The gunner mounted the ladder and slid into his own cockpit seat, strapping himself in and grabbing the canopy.

"Clear?" He barked over the din of navy crewman running about preparing other ships and landers for combat.

"Clear." The pilot echoed. The gunner pulled the canopy sliding shut and making a solf sucking sounds as it sealed. "Begin systems check." Orkbane One ordered, his copilot and gunner, sitting in the seat in front of him, responded with a thumbs up raised over his shoulders as he started to run through his system diagnostics.

The pilot hit the corresponding runes as he looked for reaction in his controls and in the dials. "Control surfaces… check. Navs… check. Vox… check. Fire suppression… check. Weapons?"

The gunner took over, his voice echoing through the helmet based vox link that the two Naval Aviators shared on their own private channel. "Heavy bolter… check. Port external fuel tank for orbital burn… check. Starboard sensor pod… check. Infrared targeting system… check. Flare dispensers… check. All weapons systems operational, leftenant."

The pilot resumed his checklist. "Machine spirit…" A blue light at the center of the console glowed a warm blue, indicating the machine spirit was ready and willing. "Online and operational. Orbital boosters… primed and ready for return burn. Main engine… ready for ignition."

"All systems green." The gunner responded, offering the pilot another thumbs up. "The Emperor seems to have blessed our craft today, sir."

"The Adeptus Mechanicus more like." The pilot grumbled under breath.

"Repeat that, leftenant?" The gunner said, glancing back.

"Nothing, Vex." The pilot said, shaking his head as he sighed softly. "The Emperor guides."

"The Emperor protects." The gunner responded.

"Prepare for ignition." The pilot snapped, pushing past the issue and rolling his eyes. He started to increase the throttle, feeling the ship starting to vibrate, a whine starting to echo through the hull. "Spinning up… Igniting!" He flipped the two switches up and hit the ignition rune and was rewarded with a mighty roar of as the engine howled to life in the small hanger bay. The ship shook and hummed with power around the pilot as the ignition coils turned over, the turbofan roaring mightily. He punched the vox console, bouncing him up to the hanger control deck net. "This is Orkbane flight, requesting atmospheric data and departure permission from _Pride of Elysia."_

"Orbane flight, Pride of Elysia." The cool, female voice of the vox officer for the hanger deck control office crackled through. "Atmospheric conditions are cloudy and auspex shows possible snow storms. Proceed with caution." The vox crackled briefly and then cut out for a few moments, before it came again. "Orkbane, Admiral von Haaden aboard the _Triumph_ wishes you a smooth descent. The hanger bay is clear. Permission to depart granted, Orkbane Flight. Emperor guide you."

"Roger, _Pride of Elysia_." The pilot said, a chill running down his spine. "The Emperor watches." He looked out over the edge of the cockpit, out the glass canopy and saw a naval crewman in a yellow vest wave two glow rods upwards, indicated that the Vulture was clear of obstructions.

The pilot eased the throttle forward, feeling the ship's engine start to howl, sucking air in through the turbofan's primary intake. He carefully slid the throttle forward another notch, the ship shuddering and then lifting off the deck, wavering slightly before lifting slowly and solidly into the air. The craft rose the height of a man from the deck and the pilot pushed the stick forward ever so slightly. The craft slid forward on greased rails and as the pilot looked to port, he saw his wingman start to slide forward, the second Vulture's nose dipping ever so slightly. The other pilot gave the pilot of Orkbane One a thumbs up, pointing two fingers forward.

"One, this is Two. We're on your 8 o'clock and will be sticking there." The vox crackled.

"Roger, Two. Orkbane One has the lead." The pilot grinned as he goosed the throttle forward, bouncing upwards on jets of air, vectored downwards to cushion the Vulture. It rose rapidly, unencumbered by its typically massive load of weapons and firepower. He eased the vector control into flight mode, hearing the heavy servos echo through the hull. The ship started to dart forward towards the glowing blue void barriers, finally crashing through the shield that protected the hangar from the lack of atmosphere and any enemies that would try and damage the ship. The engines howled as they passed through the void, devoid of air for the turbofan for a brief second before the Vulture's engines began to gobble the cold, thin air of the high atmosphere.

The two ships dived through the reaches of Cedrus's upper atmosphere, the bare tinges of orange heat starting to shine along their noses and wing tips as they accelerated towards the ground, the ships howling in fury as they careened downwards.

They leveled off high above the ground, still well above the range of any ground to air fire possibly fielded by ork troops.

"Vex, what are the scanners showing?" The pilot asked, leaning the ship to one side, glancing down and seeing mostly cloud cover.

There was a grunt as the co-pilot flipped switches, punched in a couple of runes, and adjusted sensors in the pod. "The clouds are too thick, leftenant, we're gonna have to descend through it."

"Roger." The pilot muttered, sighing. He dipped the plane forward and started hurtling downwards again, seeing the massive bank of white coming up at him, grimacing at the thought of plunging into the white unknown, not being able to see anything, having to fly by sensors alone. The wall of white was coming up at him now and he eased up on the dive, slowing his descent.

The Vultures plunged through the cloud cover and for many moments, the pilot couldn't see anything. The ship shook around him, bouncing him around in his seat as the turbulent air shook his ship wildly about. He watched the gauges, the altimeter rolling off numbers as they continued downwards, finally emerging from the bank of clouds below.

Cedrus was a bluish-grey hue, much of the ground covered in snow and tall trees, many so large that the pilot could identify them from thousands of feet up. He grimaced. It was impossible to identify anything by eyesight alone. He glanced down at a pict-screen that displayed an arrow imposed upon a map. He leveled off and slowed his advance, letting Orkbane Two drop in behind and to the left.

"Two, you see anything?" The pilot called over the flight's personal vox channel. "We're just about where we should be. So where are the orcs?"

The brilliant glow of tracers flashing past the cockpit caused the pilot to slam the throttle forward and peel off to starboard. The whine and crackle of gunfire from below cut through the peaceful silence of Cedrus's Black Forest. The pilot slammed the stick back and forth as he bounced about, jinking through the thickening clouds of tracers that reached skyward. The steely impact of rounds told him that they had connected, but the lack of alarm from the Machine Spirit was more than enough to tell him that he was still flight capable. He pushed his ship harder, the Vulture reacting uncharacteristically nimbly as he swept out along the forest in a wide arc. The tracer fire that had swarmed past faded off to nothing and he exhaled softly in relief. He banked the craft looking back over the forest, but grimaced when he saw the yellow lances of gunfire boxing in Orkbane two.

"Two, get clear!" The pilot ordered over the vox.

"Attempting!" The pilot of the second Vulture barked, his voice strained by the g-forces as he slammed the Vulture up on its side and executed a particularly sharp turn.

"You're getting boxed in!" One shouted.

"Accelerating to break through!" The howl of the Vulture's engines cut through the sky like a knife, but as the craft rapidly picked up speed, a massive explosion rocked the side of the craft, sending it tumbling sideways, rolling rapidly as it started to plummet. "We've been hit! This is Orkbane two, repeat, we've been hit! Attempting crash landing!"

"Damnit!" The pilot spat. "Vex, what happened!?"

"It appears their auxiliary fuel tank was hit, sir!"

"Feth!" The pilot spat angrily. Fire and smoke trailed from the ship as it plummeted like a rock, picking up speed. More and more tracers poured into it, some thick like lasers, other slow and larger, marking heavier weapons. One of the larger bore rounds collided with the Vulture and the entire craft was consumed in a massive fireball. It spread as the burning wreckage tumbled downwards, striking and bouncing through the forest, carving a deep scar in the surface of Cedrus. Despite the force of the crashing ship, the cedar trees were not so forgiving, and as the downed craft smashed through the forest, it was pummeled by collision after collision with the mighty trees. Eventually the ship came to rest, lost somewhere deep below the canopy, the second Vulture reduced to nothing more than a ball of rolling fire stretched across the landscape.

"Damnit!" The pilot roared. "I'm making a pass to check for survivors and then dropping low enough that the damned orks can't hit us. We'll see just what is along the ork's path. Prepare a full sensor sweep."

"But sir-…" The gunner protested.

"Do it, Vex." The pilot snapped angrily. "The orks want something so damn bad, eh? Well, we'll make sure that our boys make 'em pay for it with their dirty blood."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Admiral, we're receiving sensor data and vox communication from the reconnaissance flight, sir."

Admiral Von Haaden's hands clutched the rails of his command dais as he looked out over the unfolding battle around him. The Ork ships had crashed into his skirmish line in a suicide charge, and he had already lost one of his cruisers and a yet untold number of escort ships that had fallen to the ork captain's reckless but admittedly brutally effective tactics. However, despite his battlefleet's own losses, the Imperium Navy had exacted nearly four times the damage on the ork ships. Three of the ork vessels, now easily identifiable as Freebooter Pirates, had been sent to be judged by whatever barbaric gods the depraved orks worshiped, and all but one of the remaining four vessels had already been rendered immobile. The admiral had dispatched his ships to hunt the ships down and even now, his pack circled the ork vessels like wolves, each ship pumping round after round of lance, barrage cannon, and torpedo into the heavily armored ork ships. Only one had escaped, turning tail and making a run from the system.

"I don't have time for that now! Pipe it to General Victus!" The admiral growled, his fists tightening around the hand holds of his dais. "Put those fires out and prepare another broadside! Pilot, bring us around on this ork hunk of junk!"

…

A terminal beeped as General Victus tapped his fingers impatiently upon the tabletop, eyeing the naval officers who had been assigned to assist him with communications and other trivial occurrences during his time upon the _Triumph_. He was uncomfortable sitting idly by, his troops ready to drop, unable to do anything in the belly of the massive Apocalypse-class battleship.

"There is data now being fed to us from the bridge, general." One of the navy men said curtly. "It appears that this information is from the reconnaissance flight. We also have the pilot on vox, sir."

"Put the feed on the hololith and open the vox channel." General Victus snapped. The table lit up with a long blue cut out of the planet that slowly rolled past. Brilliant red dots decorated the feed, hundreds of them sliding along the blue shapes of massive trees and the rocky, unlevel ground. Larger orbs burned bright throughout the massive array of color, moving slowly. Angry red lances indicating weapon fire danced up towards the top of the hololith.

The room filled with a moment of crackling static as the vox was piped into the room. It resolved into labored breathing. "This General Victus, commander of the Imperial Army tasked with retaking Cedrus. To whom am I speaking?"

"This is Orkbane One- Leftenant Mikhail Tavus." The pilot's voice was strained as the hololith shuddered. "I'm taking heavy ork fire, sir, apologies for the rough feed."

"It's fine, lieutenant." The general said, his voice tense. "Can you tell what the orks are after?"

"No sir." The pilot snapped, his voice tightening for a second. The hololith blinked out for several seconds before it reappeared, flickering slightly. "I already lost my wingman, and the ork fire is thick and heavy. I'm attempting to make a run forward of the ork advance, but they're moving quickly and they aren't advancing in a straight line. I've made two passes already and there's nothing in either direction, just a bunch of fething trees." The vox faded again as the pilot snarled, the holofeed fading and blinking out for a moment as the pilot snarled, jinking and dancing the ship about.

"That's enough, Lieutenant." The general growled. "Pull out before you go to meet the emperor as well. We won't find anything like this."

"Yes sir!" The pilot barked through a strained voice. "Returning to-…" The vox washed into static and the holofeed cut out. The general frowned, looking to one of the Naval officers, but the man was busy tapping away at his runes, a frown knitting his brow as if he were trying to restore the flow of information. The general sighed. "Anything?"

"No sir." The navy officer said finally, grunting. "Apologies, it appears that the feed is dead."

"Of course." The general grunted. "Did we get anything from it?"

"The pilot transmitted all the data previous gathered in his sweep, sir." The naval officer didn't manage to completely hide the offense in his voice, as if he had taken personal offense to the fact that the general implied that the aviator had gotten himself killed for nothing.

"Good." The general muttered, dropping down into one of the swiveling chairs that surrounded the long conference table that he had been given as his command center. Soldiers came and went, and his staff moved about, finalizing preparations and information for the drop, doing their best to recover information and interpret tactical data in hopes of providing as much data as possible to the commander and any troops on the ground when the time came. He considered how he could monitor the ork forces without suffering any further significant losses. The ship shuddered around him and he gripped the arms of the chair, grimacing. "Get me off this bloody ship. What I wouldn't do for some solid ground beneath my feet…"

"That was one of the ork ships breaking up." The naval officer reported, grinning proudly as a ragged cheer rippled through the imperial guard. "If we're lucky, some chunks of the hull will fall through the atmosphere and land on the heads of the orks." He chuckled throatily. "Even when we're engaging another ship in orbit the Navy is making your job easier."

"That's it!" The general slapped the table, grinning at the idea.

"Uh… sir?" The naval officer looked confounded as he eyed the general with concern. "What's it?"

"Can you connect me to the Pride of Elysia? Is she still holding in high atmospheric orbit?" The general said, taking a dataslate and starting to tap through it. "And send me all the data received from the Vulture pilot. I have an idea that will mean his sacrifice wasn't all for naught."

"Of course sir." The naval officer said, working quickly, spurred on by the general's words. "It should be on the tablet now, sir." The general nodded his thanks, sorting through the data, recalling the map and starting to make adjustments.

"Vox communications established with _Pride of Elysia_ , sir." The officer stated.

"This is Captain Ferrus of the _Pride of Elysia_." The voice was deep and growling. "To who am I speaking?"

"This is General Victus." the general stated firmly. "Captain, I'm going to be sending you a packet of information via vox including a map with a specified drop zone on the continent below. In it is also a series of battle plans. On board you should have a company of Elysian Grenadier Shock Troops, correct?"

There was a moment of silence likely spurring from the captain checking the information. The vox crackled as it came back online. "Yes, general. I'm assuming you want me to deploy the company to the designated drop zone?"

The general stopped frowning. He had other special forces available to him if need be, but an entire company of troops would likely be easily noticed. "Send two squads with heavy weapon detachments for each squad, deployed by a high altitude jump from Valkyries."

"Yes sir." The captain responded. "Shall I have the unit's commander contact you when they're deployed?"

"Do so." The general ordered. "Victus, out."


	5. Chapter 2: Planetfall

The Valkyrie shook as it passed through the void shield of the hanger bay, dropping slightly with its full payload of troops and equipment as it plunged into the thin air of the very reaches of Cedrus's atmosphere. The engines whined as they turned to a jaw shaking roar, the pilot pushing them to full, struggling to keep the heavily laden ship aloft.

"Four minutes to drop!" The pilot called barked over the craft's vox.

"Roger!" Lieutenant Cecilia Raath called back over the roar of the engines. She turned to the inner bulkhead of the Valkyrie transport ship, the interior of the ship lit only with only dim red light. She looked over her men as they nervously checked their weapons and gear over and over, each one inspecting his lasrifle and his grave chute, perched high upon his back. Each trooper checked the gear of the soldier beside him, tugging on equipment, examining weapons and equipment, desperately attempting to ensure that every piece of gear was primed and ready for the drop. "Vox from the _Triumph_ , Lieutenant!" The pilot called. "Use the panel at the fore bulkhead, ma'am!"

 _Finally. Orders._ Lieutenant Raath shouldered her way past several troopers, stepping up to a panel covered in runes, several glow orbs and a speaker showing on it. She tugged a cable from her helmet and ran it forward, plugging it into the jack of the vox panel. She hit the rune below a flashing green light and pressed a hand to her head, trying to mute some of the roar of the engines as her personal vox unit crackled to life in her ear.

"This is General Victus. Are you commander of the Storm Trooper unit?" The vox was weak and she had to struggle to hear it.

"General, this is Leftenant Raath, 82nd Elysian Storm Troopers." She shouted over the engines, knowing the vox would adjust itself to keep her from deafening the general. "We're prepared to drop at any time sir."

"Three minutes!" The pilot called.

"Lieutenant, your orders are to make a hot HALO jump down to the Continent below and then track and determine the goals behind a large band of orks that is moving through the western forests of Cedrus." The general said simply, his tone flat and cold. "Do what you must to discover the orks intentions and be careful. The orks are well armed and well disciplined."

"Intentions, sir!?" Cecilia couldn't believe what she was hearing. Orks didn't have intentions, they were barely more than mindless brutes obsessed with slaughter. "What kind of intentions am I looking for?"

"Find their target, Lieutenant." The general snapped. "I want to know what those orks are searching for or hunting, preferably before they find it. Am I clear enough, Lieutenant?"

Cecilia quashed the desire the ask more questions, struggling to keep the iritation from her voice at the general's words. "Crystal, sir!"

"Make it happen, Lieutenant. I expect swift results." The general's voice crackled over the vox. "Send the orks to meet their gods, and may the Emperor watch over you."

"Thank you sir!" Cecilia called, snapping the vox off without saying more. There was a time and place for prayers and thanks to the God-Emperor, but for Cecilia, it was not just before a drop. She'd thank the emperor when she touched down. She returned her vox cable to its place upon her waist, checking twice more to ensure it was secured properly.

"Two minutes!" The pilot called.

 _Feth._ She turned to her troopers and raised her hand, circling it over her head. "Final equipment check!" The lieutenant ordered over the platoon's vox channel. "Listen up! We're getting dropped into a hot combat zone! Rendezvous point is a downed Vulture fighter! Follow the pillar of smoke!" Cecilia bounced as a taller trooper tugged on her gear, ensuring it was in place. All around her, troopers under her command did the same one last time, carrying out her orders. The large soldier leaned down, revealing a smiling trooper with a large grin plastered across his face. Despite the fact that the lower half of his face was covered by his respirator, she could see the obnoxiously large smile in his eyes. "Something to say, Holtz?"

"What, Lieutenant, no inspiring speech?" The man said jovially as she spun, letting him check her grav chute and all the equipment strapped to her back. She checked the woven belt that connected her lasrifle to her belt, and tugged at her lightweight flak armor, specially made for the Elysian forces, that would protect her when she reached the ground.

"If you want inspiring, aim for a temple when you land." Cecilia snapped brusquely, turning back and starting to roughly jerk on the soldier's gear. Holtz chuckled softly, but it trailed off as he looked down at her. She glanced up and saw a sly smile in his eyes.

"Was that a joke, ma'am?" The soldier said with a grin. Cecilia could hear the jovial tone in his voice as he watched her check his equipment. She gave her chest armor a particularly sharp tug, letting his chin impact upon his breastplate. He grunted in pain.

"No." She snapped. "Turn." The man grumbled under his breath. Cecilia checked the grav chute, pressing a quick series of runes and waiting till a green glow orb flashed back at her twice to confirm that the equipment was functioning properly. She started grabbing and tugging on equipment, making sure everything was squared away, finally slapping the trooper on the shoulder, watching as the last of her troopers completed the check. Despite their quick completion, she knew that every one of the troopers had done their checks diligently and completely.

"One minute!" The pilot's voice echoed through the vox. The ship shuddered, her people rocking on their feet as they struggled to keep upright, laden down with heavy gear and lots of equipment.

"Line up!" Cecilia ordered and watched as he men did a shuffle walk into position along either side of the hull, holding onto the netting that was slung along the roof of the troop bay. It was tight inside the troop bay of the Valkyrie, but they managed to make a thin aisle down the middle of the ship for her to step along. She glanced at the chron display in the upper right hand corner of her helmet. The seconds ticked down, and she could see the men tense up, preparing for the drop, most of them following on their own chrons. She spied a soldier she didn't immediately recognize and she remembered that the man had recently transferred from another unit into hers. She cuffed his shoulder, leaning in so he knew she was talking to him. "What's your name, trooper?" He turned on her, annoyance knitting his brow as he looked upon the lieutenant. He looked surprised and a smile started to spread through his eyes, his demeanor changing quickly.

"Frederic, ma'am!" The young trooper said excitedly, as if he had been broken from a trance. He had bright, icy blue eyes that sparkled with excitement as he looked back at her. "Frederic Aventus!"

"First drop, Frederic?" Cecilia asked back, watching as he looked up at her and gave her a smile. He wasn't much shorter than she was, but despite his excess movements, Cecilia could see it was intentional, as if he was psyching himself up for something. She could see from his eyes that this wasn't his first drop, but the excited look fought against the experience he betrayed, as if he was trying not to be excited despite the motions. He, like Holtz, was wearing a wild grin of excitement behind his respirator.

"No, ma'am!" The trooper said, shaking his head, exaggerating the movement so she could tell what he was doing despite the helmet he wore. "I served under Colonel Varth in the 55th Elysian Storm Troopers. I just love the thrill of the jump, ma'am! Gets my blood boiling every time!"

Cecilia fought the urge to shake her head, instead she simply slapped the trooper on the arm and turned back to her post at the very tail of the dropship, just before the ramp.

"Thirty seconds!" A red light went on above the tail door at the rear of the Valkyrie, and the main ramp cracked open. Brilliant light streamed into the troop bay, casting the Elysian troops with an eerie glow. Not far behind and off to the side and slightly below a second Valkyrie was cruising, matching its sister ships speed. The curve of the planet could be seen in the distance, the horizon arcing down and away. Below, mighty blue seas stretched out along the distance to the horizon and beyond. Below, masses of swirling grey cloud reached out, obscuring much of the planet. Cecilia looked back over shoulder, looking down into the teaming mass of clouds, dozens and dozens of kloms below. She glanced at the altimeter imposed upon her helmet's visor and grimaced.

 _Thirty kloms. Almost outside our jump envelope_. She did the mental calculations. _9 minutes of free fall at terminal velocity. I've done more._ She glanced at her chron and raised a fist over her shoulder, still clinging to the cargo netting. She turned, her back to the massive expanse of sky, looking to her soldiers within.

"Drop Canisters away!" The pilot shouted.

 _5…_ Cecilia opened her palm.

 _4…_ She tucked her thumb.

 _3…_ A finger dropped.

 _2…_ Another fell.

 _1…_ A single finger was left raised.

The last finger fell. "GO! GO! GO!" Cecilia roared.

"Elysia leads the way!" Her troopers roared as one.

They rushed past her, throwing themselves into the air and descending into the void of a wide open sky. Cecilia counted the eleven troopers as they rushed past, flinging themselves out of the ship without fear of the fall or of the dangers that awaited. Above a mighty battle raged, below, millions of furious, heavily-armed orks looked for anything to rip or to kill to satiate that desire.

Cecilia closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting her mind get lost in the rush of the wind and the roar of the Valkyrie's engines. She leaned back until only a few fingers laced in the netting along the top of the troop bay. She felt her fingers start to slip and just as one started to slide free, she released her grip upon the cargo netting and for a brief moment she was completely lost in bliss. Around her, she was completely cut off from the world. Her touch was of nothing but the ripple of her armor and uniform against her skin. She could only hear the roar of the wind screaming past her. She could smell nothing, the filters of her respirator removing every tinge of the outside world. Darkness filled her vision, an orange glow imposed upon her vision, the sun distant in the sky above. There was an empty taste in her mouth, as if there was something distant, something she wanted but couldn't have, and it was frustrating.

Every time she took that plunge, every jump she made, there was a moment of pure bliss, the moment where her heart started to leap from her chest, but it was always something. Something was always incomplete. She opened her eyes and watched the Valkyrie fall away, remaining upon high as she began her tumble. Suddenly she was fully alone and nothing else mattered as she tumbled slowly through the sky, the adrenaline coursing through her system, slowing the world, stretching it out, every instance flashing through her mind like a pict getting snapped for her memory. Her smell, taste, and touch all seemed to dull slightly as she felt the adrenaline begin to ebb, her senses honing, reverting to their razor sharp edge as she looked about. She watched as flaming hulks of rubble, the ruinous remnants of a orc cruiser descending through the atmosphere, fire and greasy black smoke marring the sky.

She rolled onto her stomach and tucked her arms into her side, accelerating down, slimming her profile as she rocketed downwards, accelerating to catch up with her descending troopers. She saw a group of eleven and a group of twelve troopers, each seemingly floating closely together, arrayed in a rough circle. One of the circles parted, allowing her to slot in, spreading her arms out around her as she slowed her descent to match that of her compatriots. She was slightly smaller than many of the other grenadiers and her arms were closer to her body than most to match their downward velocity.

"Report!" Cecilia shouted, finding the roar of the wind whipping past her helm nearly deafening, almost completely drowning her own voice in her head.

"All troops present and accounted for!" Holtz shouted back, his voice faint even over their closed vox channel.

Cecilia could hear the giddiness in his voice, and she couldn't exactly disagree with the feeling. Something about hurtling through the atmosphere of a planet at over two hundred kloms per hour sent a chill up and down her spine, her entire body tingling and shivering with excitement as the wind rushed past. Numbers reeled away on her HUD almost imperceptibly fast as they fell, the altimeter ticking away. It was almost unreal watching the time compared to the altimeter, but as Cecilia took in the world around her, she could only marvel at the breathtaking scenery. Around her, everything was blue. The blue sky behind her, the snowy blue-white landscape below, the deep blue seas upon the horizon.

The minutes stretched on, and some of the soldiers passed the time by rolling and doing acrobatics. Cecilia watched the new soldier, Frederic, doing loops and spinning wildly like a top, his maneuvering precise but wild. The aerobatics were impressive, every motion designed to not waste energy. The men waved their arms, cheering him silently on, but as the numbers dropped into only four digits, Cecilia reigned her troops in. They closed ranks as the cloud cover started to rush up to meet them. The clasped hands and settled their motions, spreading out to the very edge of each soldier's arm length.

They plunged through the clouds, the ice crashing against their uniforms, bouncing off helmets, weapons and gathering along their bodies. Cecilia felt the crushing grip of one of her compatriots holding close to her as they plummeted deeper and deeper through the clouds.

Suddenly they were through the clouds, and below them the mighty cedar trees reached up everywhere.

"Fethin' trees." Someone nameless muttered across the vox, thought the voice sounded remarkably like her sergeant and the leader of the second squad, a salty old veteran named Tawes who had a cynical comment about everything and a distrust of everything and everyone who wasn't an Elysian Grenadier. Cecilia was tempted to figure out if it had actually been Tawes or one of the younger troopers, but she decided against calling him out for the infraction in the middle of the jump. Besides, despite her icy exterior and no nonsense attitude, the lieutenant shared his sentiments, though even under oath she wouldn't admit it. Trees often made a drop troopers life far more difficult than it need be, despite all the training that even the Elysian Grenadiers had. One wrong movement and you end up with a broken bone or neck. She spotted a thick column of greasy black smoke that was still reaching heavenward.

"Stow it." Cecilia ordered to the still nameless voice, watching as the drop troops began to fan out, each aiming for a different gap between trees. "Orient north and note the Vulture crash site! We're about a klom off target, so when we hit the dirt, don't dally."

"You heard the lieutenant!" Tawes shouted over the vox. "Move your ass when you're ground side!"

Cecilia didn't need the sergeant's backup to get her point across, but she knew the older soldier was simply trying to ensure no one got left behind. Despite his gruff exterior, she knew the tough old grenadier only wanted all of his men to come back from the mission. She winced, thinking that for all the positions in the regiments he could have served with that desire, it had to be the Elysian Drop Troops. She shook off the dark thought of the inevitable loss of soldiers as she turned back to the ground below, checking her altimeter and chron. "Thirty seconds!" She shouted, glancing about, watching are her troops made note of the column of smoke that marked the downed gunship. "Spread out and watch your descents. Head for the downed Vulture and watch for orks." The altimeter on her helmet dropped to three digits. "Chutes!"

Almost as suddenly as it began, the crushing weight of the grav-chute deploying practically ripped the life from Cecilia's body. She gritted her teeth as the harness tightened around her, crushing her body into the tight straps as tens of G forces pummeled her body. The cedar trees raced up to meet her as she aimed for the gap central to three monstrously large trees, their height starting just as the altimeter rolled down to only two digits. The trees raced past as she brushed past branch after branch, the snow and ice cascading down around her. A single digit remained as she boosted all the power she could into the grav-chute, realizing she was still coming in slightly too fast, the ice and snow interfering with the grav chutes boosters. She gritted her teeth as the harness tore into her body again, the tingling in her fingers and toes growing sharper, almost painful.

The grav-chute cut out just before her feet touched solid ground.

Cecilia tucked her knees to her chest just as she hit the ground, sending her crashing forward, rolling roughly end over end. The maneuver was designed to try and divert downward momentum to forward motion, but the rough ground made it almost impossible to save completely. She struck something hard with her back, feeling it jam something hard into her back, knocking the air from her lungs. She crashed to a halt, leaving her in a heap collapsed upon the ground, splayed over a root.

Darkness swam in her vision for a few seconds until someone shook her shoulder.

"Leftenant, are you okay?" It was Holtz. He helped her into a sitting position, but she brushed him off, pushing herself up onto one knee. Her chest was still tight, but she forced herself to take a deep breath, some pain cutting through her chest as she inhaled. She winced, but ignored it.

"Where is everyone?" Cecilia asked tersely, tugging off the empty respirator, tasting the cold metallic air, thick with the scent of snow. There was another stench, the sticky smell of burning promethium and the sweet, spicy scent of something else burning on top of it. The haze was thick over the cool grey snow spread across the ground, as she swept the area around them, opposite the direction that Holtz had assumed. Despite their earlier joking, they were both well drilled and the motions to establish a safe perimeter had been almost instinctual.

"I assume moving to the rendezvous, ma'am." Holtz murmured, raising his bullpup lasgun and sweeping the dark forest for threats. Cecilia made sure to check her own weapon, sliding the energy clip free from behind the pistol grip, checking the charge was full and then sliding it home again. "I had no idea this forest was this thick…"

"It's incredible." Cecilia said softly, looking around in awe, the shock of the landing starting to ebb. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind of the distractions. They had a mission to accomplish. "Are there any others with you?"

"No ma'am." Holtz murmured, keeping his head on a swivel, his weapon panning slowly about. "I didn't run across any others on my way-…" He made a fist and Cecilia froze, her hand upon her lasrifle.

"What is it?" She subvocalized, letting the short range vox carry only to Holtz.

He patted his open hand upon the wrist of his gun arm. _Contacts._ Lieutenant Raath dropped down, raising her lasgun in the direction that Holtz had trained his weapon. She rested the barrel upon the thick, gnarled root, imposing it between her and the approaching figures that slowly faded out of the dim, grey haze. Ice coated ferns and thick undergrowth left the snow wild and unpredictable, and the approaching troops were moving slowly, cumbersomely as she fought their way forward.

"Identify yourself." Cecilia subvocalized, using the short range vox to try and contact the approaching figures. They froze.

"Is that you, Lieutenant?" The short range vox crackled slightly, which was unusual. At this range, there should have been little to no issues with their personal vox channels.

"Rex?" Holtz growled, shaking his head, lowering his weapon, but keeping it close at hand over his chest. "You just about got shot. Even a lasgun woulda been able to mess up that pretty mug of yours."

"Sorry, Sarge." The massive soldier muttered, levering his massive weapon up and onto a shoulder. He grunted with the effort, sinking slightly at the knees as he struggled along through the ice and snow. A thick scar run up along his chin, ending somewhere under his visor, a gap-toothed grin flashing at Holtz. "It took me a few minutes to find my bolter." He said with a grin, patting the heavy weapon on his shoulder. "The Drop Canister was wedged pretty deep and I didn't have your _strength_ to get it out." The sarcasm had been thick in his voice as Rex looked down at Holtz, the sergeant nearly a head shorter than him. He grunted as he shrugged, leveling the weapon off to the side, dropping to one knee and shouldering the massive heavy bolter. His assistant gunner, an odd fellow named Machs had already trained his weapon into the depths of the forest, otherwise choosing to remain silent. He had attentive eyes, if slightly hollow from all the combat he had seen.

"Contact." Machs hissed the single word, and immediately the group fell silent, their weapons all turning to match his. Several tense seconds passed, each soldier holding perfectly still.

"Hold you fire." The communication echoed over the vox as another trooper stepped from the haze. "Leftenant, are you here?"

"Yes, Maeve, I'm here." Cecilia said, pushing herself up from behind the roots. She raised her lasgun clear of the approaching troops, seeing the other woman's shoulders fall slightly in relief. She turned and waved to something or someone distant, and a number of other troopers came jogging forward. The female trooper shouldered her long-las as the troops closed. Most of the troops looked attentive and ready, and only one nursed an injured arm, but he carried his lasgun in his uninjured hand. "Does anyone have vox?"

"No, ma'am." Maeve answered courteously, tugging her helmet off and tapping the earpiece with a frown. Her red hair was cinched at the back of her head, only a few locks out of place from the sweat upon her brow. Her emerald eyes were sharp and attentive, countering the fine and pale, almost frail appearance she maintained. "We've got short range vox within line-of-sight, ma'am, but anything beyond that is unconfirmed, leftenant." The lieutenant nodded slowly, a frown marring her face. She glanced at Maeve as the sharpshooter returned her helmet and then turned to Holtz, ensuring she had both their attentions.

"Has anyone seen Louis?" Cecilia asked, looking across the faces that watched her through armored faceplates. "We need to check if his vox-pack can punch through these trees. Our vox-beads should be good out to a klom, but with the dense flora… we might barely get a quarter of that." She looked to the icy plant life that poked through the thick snow, most of it blue with ice and layed with flecks of snow. The massive trees had a thick, carpet like moss that snow clung to climbing their trunks, marking them with spotty colorings.

"Not yet, ma'am, he wasn't with our group." Maeve said, shaking her head. She turned about slowly, looking through the forest before letting her head hang back, looking to the monstrous trees that towered over head. The mighty cedars rivaled even the tallest spires of Elysia, and as the troopers took in their surroundings, they came to realize just how treacherous it would be to operate in this terrain. It was like getting lost in the most populace of urban areas, tall skyscrapers and massive dwellings reaching to the sky and beyond, but every building was almost exactly the same and there were no directions. The trees towered about them, imposingly like the Titans that trod the battlefield in the most serious of imperial conflicts, each as tall as the largest of the humanoid war machines. The world was dark and grey amid the bases of the towering cedars, only worsened by the smoky haze that had settled among the roots, slowly drifting through the woods.

"Blast." Cecilia growled, shaking her head. She scanned the forest, watching the smoke as it wafted slowly, lazily along the almost completely still air. "Very well. We make for the crash site."

"How do you plan on finding it?" Holtz asked, posting a fist upon his hip, eyeing his commander. "I know you're good, Leftenant, but no one is that good."

"We follow the smoke." Cecilia said, grinning thinly, her cool green eyes bringing silence to the sergeant. "Where there's smoke, there's fire, and where there's fire, there is either a downed Vulture or Orks."

Holtz shut his mouth and shrugged with a crooked grin, admitting his defeat, hefting his lasgun. "Yes, ma'am. Lead the way." The almost vicious smile on the lieutenant's face caused Holtz to groan, knowing she had something cooked up to make his pay for his attitude.

"Form up. Holtz you're in front, Maeve behind him." She snapped, earning a groan from the sergeant as he slumped his shoulders. Cecilia fought back a grating smile. "Rex, I want your Heavy Bolter watching our back, just be ready to redirect. I want all eyes peeled for any threats, indigenous or otherwise." She snapped her hand in the signal to call her troops to attention, and when all their eyes were on her, she made the signal for a line abreast to sweep forward through the forest. "Photo-visors only, no spot lamps. Watch your footing and watch each other's backs. Acknowledge."

Cecilia flipped her own photo-visor down and watched the world around her glow with a dim green incandescence, the optics providing light as though it were mid-day, even in these dark conditions. She counted the clicks of the comm-bead, each trooper stating they understood and had heard the orders. "Sub-vocalizations from this moment on out." She gestured forward and the formation of Elysian troops departed, moving forward, sweeping through the forest, their weapons held at the ready.

The terrain was difficult to navigate, the ground rocky and treacherous, roots twisting and gnarled rising and falling between every tree, a tangled and intricate web of wood, ice and rock. Ferns and short, squat bushes with leaves that had sharp tines and small red berries. The snow that dusted the surrounding terrain was light, but the ice coated almost everything, and almost as much time was spent picking their way over ice and clambering over roots as was spent moving forward. Several times the lieutenant forced her troops to the ground at the sound of movement lost in the haze, but their challenges came up with only the scampering of small feet as creatures turned and fled.

"There's something more out there." Maeve said softly, lifting her rifle. There was a soft rumble and the haze shivered, suddenly blowing past Cecilia and he small band of soldiers. Distant, a hulking shape rose up, towering almost twice that of a Leeman Russ Tank from bottom tread to the top of the turret. It rumbled softly and then turned, each of its footfalls enough to shake the ground beneath their feet. "Emperor behold…" She murmured in awe.

"Shall I take it, ma'am?" Rex growled, leveling his bolter, an excited grin on his face.

"That pea shooter won't even touch it." Holtz chuckled with a wide grin. "Unless you've got a rocket to shove down its throat, you're better of just pissin-…"

"Enough, Holtz." Cecilia said, her voice icy to back her menace. "Let it go. Unless it looks to harm us, we save our ammunition for the orks."

Holtz cast a wary looked over his shoulder at the massive retreating figure and then shrugged. "Your call, ma'am." Holtz moved back towards the front of the column, stepping out in front, beginning to slowly pick his way through the undergrowth, moving a bit faster away from the massive creature. There was more noise as the column advanced, but eventually they were forced back down to a slower pace by the rocks and the thickening vine, fern and bush that cover the moss-slickened rock. A broken or twist ankle could be a death knell during a mission like this, so the patience and careful approach won out.

Nearly twenty minutes passed of silence, only a few brief incident involving a small furry creature with large eyes and long ears that scampered when Holtz had nearly fallen over it.

Holtz lifted a fist over his shoulder, and the entire formation stopped. He let his palm face the ground and all the troopers dropped to their knees, some dropping prone, their weapons raised. Cecilia checked over her shoulder and saw with satisfaction that every angle was being watched, including upwards. The Elysian Special Forces knew what terrors the sky could hold. Cecilia crept forward till she was level with Maeve, the marksman's rifle slowly scanning the area before them. Holtz was perched upon a root, his lasgun leveled forward. She patted the marksman on the shoulder and Maeve slide back, her weapon sweeping backwards to cover the angle that Cecilia had just vacated. She clambered up to Holtz, looking up over the root.

"Contact ma'am." Holtz said seriously, his voice devoid of joking manner. "Looks like ours."

Cecilia pulled a pair of compact magnoculars from her belt and lifted them up, letting them adjust for the low light, her photo-visor adjusting automatically to compensate. She found a moving figure and saw the distinctive Elysian chest armor and helmet decorated with a single white stripe. She recognized the helm as belonging to only one person as she dropped the magnocular and tucked them back away. She touched her finger to her ear, activating the comm-bead. "Sergeant Tawes, acknowledge."

The distant trooper touched his hand to his helm, turning in spot, dropping to one knee as he scanned the distance. He was backlight by the soft fires of the burning Vulture, the craft torn to bits by the massive trees as it had come crashing down. The hull was mostly intact, though the wings and tails had been complete ripped away by the multiple impacts with the massive trees. There were hundreds of small burning fragments of the ship, and as Cecilia looked on she could see where the Vulture had collided directly with a tree, blood still dripping from the cockpit, the faint stench of greasy cooking meat. Only the main portion of the hull remained though it was badly battered and heavily banged up. The Vulture had done its fair share of damage to the trees on its way down though, one particularly massive trunk having been smashed in two, the fires still dotting the trunk in places where the hot burning promethium of the external fuel tank had managed to light the wood.

"Lieutenant Raath?" He repeated, his weapon and head still scanning. "Where the bloody hell are you?"

"On your 10 o'clock." Cecilia stated. "Have your sentries hold fire, I'm bringing most of my squad in with me."

"Roger, ma'am." The sergeant answered, turning to face in the proper direction, though the way his head twitched indicated he hadn't exactly picked out where the lieutenant and her men were located. She waved her troops forward and the descended into the depression carved by the Vulture's impact. Most of the smaller, thinner brush had burned clean away, leaving only the thin and twist remnants of their stems still smoking from an intense promethium fire that had swept forward across the area outwards from the impact. The impact itself had left a sizable furrow in the icy, hard packed soil, chewing up and tossing rocks about as if they were nothing, charring and crunching under foot as she descended. She shook the sergeant's hand as the man stood to receive her, a grin showing on his face, slightly crooked.

"Welcome, ma'am." The sergeant said, only a faint grin apparent in his voice. "I've got sentries posted along the most likely paths of approach so we'll have warning if anyone tries to get to the Vulture."

"Good." Cecilia said, nodding her head. "Anyone not accounted for?"

"No ma'am." The sergeant shook his head, looking over her shoulder as Holtz slid down the last embankment. "Your group makes twenty-four. No injuries considering the territory, though we had someone lose their lasrifle on the way in. Had a pretty nasty run in with a branch apparently."

"Make a note." Cecilia said softly, turning to the Vulture. "Anything usable?"

"Nothing." The sergeant shook his head. "Both pilots died on impact, and if they hadn't, the promethium fires would have likely killed them before they could have gotten out; the cockpit was pretty smashed up." He paused, looking at the burned out husk, gesturing to the ground around it. "No tracks or disturbances before or after the fires. It looks like the orks haven't found it yet."

"They're likely to be searching for it." Cecilia said softly, frowning. She was coming up with a plan as best she could, but the treacherous terrain might cause issues. If the orks didn't find the Vulture quickly, they could be waiting for a very long time. "Do the Vox-casters work here in the forest?"

"Louis, front and center." The sergeant spoke into the comm-bead. A trooper perched high on a mound of dirt tossed up by a downed tree rose up and slid his way down the slope, approaching the sergeant and Lieutenant at a jog.

"Sir, ma'am?" The trooper saluted, his face paling slightly when he saw the Lieutenant waiting. "ma'am, if I could just explain, I managed to hit a tree branch and got tossed off course and-…"

"Enough. I don't want to hear your excuses." Cecilia said softly, shooting the vox operator a cold look. "What about the casters?"

"The vox-casters are strong enough to cut through the trees, but the comm-bead is having issues." The sergeant shrugged. "That's what he told me before at least."

"Sorry I couldn't follow you down, ma'am." Louis said again, grinning sheepishly this time, turning to look at the sergeant. "I had to navigate around some particularly tricky branches and ended up out here with Tawes."

"It's fine." Cecilia said, shaking her head and sighing softly. "From now on, stay on my ass, you hear me?"

"M-ma'am." The trooper said, his voice faltering as if he had just heard or seen something that had caused him to trip on the word. Cecilia shot him a warning glance to shut his trap and the trooper straightened up rigidly, his face turning red as he looked over her shoulder into the forest beyond.

She turned, looking along the terrain, her eyes taking in the many roots and all the available cover. It would be easy for a firefight to get dragged out here if her forces didn't act swiftly and without mercy. Flanking would be difficult, not for lack of positions from which to flank from but simply for the difficulty in which navigating to a flanking position could bring. She sighed softly, turning to the sergeant. "Spread the men out, with troopers posted far enough out along the most likely route of advance to provide early warning. Everyone else should take cover, aiming here." She kicked the dirt, making a divot in the ground.

"What are you thinking ma'am?" The sergeant asked, eying her curiously, a hint of a smile starting to spread across his lips. Cecilia knew that the gesture was not a lack of confidence, rather he was attempting to act as a sounding board for her idea to make sure lives or equipment were not needlessly expended.

"It's impossible the orks aren't searching for this Vulture." Cecilia said matter-of-factly. "They're want it for scrap or to check for the pilots at the very least. When they arrive, we'll be able to determine where they came from their tracks. That will allow us to pick up the trail of the main ork force in this infernal forest."

"Good plan, ma'am." The sergeant said with a grin. He turned and started directing troops about, positioning the Elysian troops amid the roots overlooking the slight depression the Vulture had ended up in. He placed sharpshooters along the longest sightlines, one each watching the most likely two routes of approach. The heavy bolter teams, Rex and Machs, and the one assigned to second squad got positioned where they could direct their bolters best, allowing for superior fields of fire with which they could keep the orks pinned down, or better yet, where they could mow them down when the orks inevitably charged blindly.

"Louis, can you get me a connection to the fleet?" Cecilia asked, looking at the sky above. She could only barely see the grey sky peeking through.

"One moment ma'am." Louis said, kneeing down, punching commands into his arm mounted data slate, the small piece of equipment attached to the vox-caster pack he wore on his back.

"Let me know when-…" The click of the comm-bead indicated trouble approaching. "Hold that thought, Louis."

"All our men are in." The sergeant whispered, dropping to a knee next to the lieutenant.

There was mechanical thunk and whirr, something ominous that was slowly moving closer. The sound echoed and screeched, as the rabble of orks started to grow louder.

"That means ork." Cecilia hissed softly, a thin smile on her face. "That was sooner than I expected. Get to cover."

The small command group; Louis, Cecilia and Tawes, scampered out of the clearing and took cover behind a large root that sprang from the ground. Cecilia pulled a pair of spare power packs from the pouches over her stomach, laying them out before her on the monstrous gnarled root. The others did similarly, their weapons held to their chests as they remained hidden behind the root. The sound of bolter fire started echoing through the forest, the staccato cracks starting to drown out the thunder of the lieutenant's heart pounding in her ears and the thuds of the advancing enemy mech. "All units!" She sub vocalized. "Hold fire! I repeat, hold fire!"

She froze, but the bolter fire continued, joined with several others and the raucous sound of ork roars and jeering as a group of orks stumbled into the clearing, their weapons barking their thunderous reports through the trees, their roars carrying far, echoing loudly. Deep int eh middle of the formation a wheezing, sparking, heavy armed walker, the shape of a tin can with arms, struggled over the odd terrain, its feet struggling for purchase with every step, its arm waving about wildly. A vicious spinning blade gleamed, lit by the blasts from the ork's massive firearms.

"They're just enjoying the boom." Tawes subvocalized, the amusement and mirth evident even in the digitalized tone of his voice. "They have no idea what's in store."

Cecilia simply nodded, a predatory grin spreading over her face.

More orks poured into the clearing, nearly forty in all by Cecilia's rough count. Most were armed with axe and bolt weapons, though only a few had armor, including a large looking officer type who had a heavy helm and shoulder pauldrons of wrought metal that clanked when he looked about. The leader knocked on the can-like walker, and it belched smoke as it ground to a halt, turning slowly, taking in the surrounding area, its gun tracking slowly along the hills that descended to the Vulture. The nob roared, pointing at the gunship and his orks rushed forward. He barked orders in the grunting ork language, and a group of five orks stopped, turning to look at him. He roared at them and then raised an axe as broad as Cecilia shoulders, using it to point back towards the way they had come. The smaller orks protested, their weapons smacking the ground. The nob roared again, cuffing one on the head, sending it crashing to the ground. He pointed back the way the orks had come and roared again. This time the smaller orks didn't protest, instead turning and starting back the way they had come.

"Looks like he's sending for reinforcements." Tawes subvocalized again. "Shall we prepare to engage before he has a chance?"

"No, wait." Cecilia responded. "Have two of your men, your vox-operator and another, trail them back towards the main body of the ork troops. It'll be easier that way."

The sergeant blinked a few times lamely, but a grin spread over his face. "Yes ma'am." He said, turning to Louis, having the vox-operator use his more powerful equipment to dispatch the subvocalized orders. Cecilia listen and heard two clicks of the comm-bead and then watched as two helmets and rifles disappeared from the battle lines that had formed. There were no other signs at the troopers started on their assignment, and while they were likely reluctant they wouldn't get to slaughter the remaining orks, they knew their task was equally important. "Erich with signal when they're out of earshot."

"Good." Cecilia responded. She pushed herself up and leveled her rifle on the orks below. "Maeve."

"Maeve hear." The sharpshooter was undoubtedly in a perch somewhere higher than the rest where she could get a good view of the area. "When I give the signal, I want you to take the leader."

"Aye, Wrath." Maeve responded.

Cecilia heard the name, and knew immediately that the sharpshooter was not using her family name, rather the nickname that she had been given as the lieutenant realized that all the troops had been listening in. She was known for her brutal efficiency, even among the hard and fast hitting Elysian drop troops, and had earned the nickname 'Wrath' during training before she had been promoted.

She felt a subtle shift in her men. "Pick your targets." She subvocalized. "I want a rocket in the can as soon as we open fire." The air was tense as she heard the slight rustle of Tawes rising up and picking out his target. The click of a comm-bead signaled they were clear to engage.

"Maeve, you're clear to fire." She was answered with silence for several seconds.

A lance of angry crimson lanced out from above and behind the lieutenant, striking the ork nob's head at the eye, just below the brim of his helmet. His head exploded in a shower of gore and gobbets of ork flesh, the helmet jumping into the air and crashing down on top of one of the other orks that had been swarming around him. The smaller ork looked confused when he picked up the helmet and started to turn to the nob when the leader's body crushed the small ork.

Cecilia pushed herself up, leveling her rifle at an ork as they all froze. The walker turned, its gun starting to spin as it acquired a target, lances of yellow fire starting to blaze through the air as the overzealous ork pilot let loose.

"Fire!" She shouted. She let loose two blasts from her lasgun and cut down another ork, the first crimson lance catching the beast in the chest, the second piercing its skull, showering the ground with more gore. The ork fire started to draw nearer, picking the lieutenant out from the forest from the lasgun blasts, the heavy _thunk_ of its feet spinning it slowly in place. "Krak Missile! Now!"

The Grenadier heavy gunner let loose, the backblast lighting the entire side of the clearing in brilliant orange light, a snow white streak of smoke marking the path as the missile careened downwards. It struck the can with a mighty explosion, a gout of dirt tossed high into the air. The can peeled backwards, the gun exploding, the explosion casting the ork formation into chaos.

The clearing burst to life, angry red energy pouring into the ork troops below. Troopers picked their shots and few if any missed. The first volley downed nearly half the ork formation, the green creatures roaring in defiance as they started firing wildly, pumping rounds from their crude weapons into the trees around them. The vicious bark of the heavy bolters echoed through the clearing as the orks scattered, leaderless, scrambling in every direction. The second volley of lasgun fire was far more disparate, the shots chosen carful on the run targets. Some orks disappeared in chucks of red mist as bolter shells caught them in the back, splattering them across the ice and dirt. The orks panicked and tried to fire back, but even amid the smoke of the burning walker, they were backlit but the fires, making easy target.

"Cease fire!" Cecilia yelled. The last ork fell as a blazing stream of energy from a lasgun caught him squarely in the back. He dropped to his face, falling silent. "Sweep forward! Sentries, stay vigilant for another attack!"

Cecilia mounted the root and skidded down the slope, jogging forward with the rest of the troops as they pushed forward. The only thing that could be heard was the gurgling of dying orks and the whine of discharging lasguns, sending the orks to be judged by whatever craven gods they served.

Cecilia stepped up to the ork nob, grunting as she rolled him off the scampering figure of the smaller ork it had fallen on. The creature grunted, starting to push up, grabbing for a weapon, but Cecilia raised her lasgun and brought the butt of the stock down into the creature's eye. It squealed and roared in pain, falling to the dirt, scratching for purchase, its hands searching for a weapon, anything, but Cecilia, slammed a boot down on the creature's neck pinning it to the ground. The ork snarled, struggling underfoot, but it froze when Cecilia leveled her lasgun with its forehead. The orks beady yellow eyes looked up to the weapon, its entire body frozen.

Cecilia pumped a round into its skull.

"Orders, ma'am?" Tawes asked softly as she stomped her foot on the ground, casting gobbets of ork flesh off. Cecilia glanced at her chron before looking up at him. The smile on her lips was enough to cause him to shiver.

"One minute and twenty-seven seconds. Well done, sergeant." Her smile was ice cold as she turned, looking at the wrecked hull of the Vulture. "Police the bodies and toss them into the Vulture's hull and burn it. Make sure the engines goes and the Promethium tanks ignite. I want nothing but the gore upon the ground left when the orks return."

The sergeant shivered as he saluted. "Yes, _ma'am!"_


	6. Chapter 3: Orks

The lieutenant's plan had worked. When the Orks had returned they had gone wild with anger, smashing their axes and guns into the ground, blasting away with reckless abandon as they howled and roared in anguish. Their movements had been erratic for a time before a new nob, bringing his own troops with him, had arrived, shouting the others into submission. It had taken him a few minutes to police his troops and bring the Orks to heel, but he was swift and fearsome, rending one rebellious Ork of flesh in a matter of seconds. It had been an impressive feat, chopping the Ork from shoulder to hip across his body with a single grunting blow, and as the troopers watched in horror, the other Orks had simply laughed and grunted their indifference.

The Orks had not stayed much longer than that. They had been fleet of foot, despite their lack of their typical, rumbling, multi-wheeled transports, had made good time. Cecilia had to push her troops to match the pace of the Orks, and while none complained, she could hear the exertion in their panting breaths and the tired grunts as they maneuvered over obstacle after obstacle. They clambered over stumps and ducked under trees, plodding through snow and scaled massive roots as if they were traversing the rocky cliffs of their home planet of Elysia. As they mounted a particularly large root, the lieutenant dropped to one knee and halted her troops, allowing them to rest. There were a few tired groans but most of the troops used the time to suck on snow or to simply attempt to catch their breath in the cold air.

"Maeve." The lieutenant summoned the sharpshooter from her position in the line behind her, the young woman mounting the large outcropping, lifting herself up beside Cecilia in a single motion. She dropped to one knee, her breathing slower than her compatriots, her breaths long and slow. She had fire red hair pulled back in a tight bun, her emerald green eyes glimmering eerily in the dim forest light as the mechanical sensors slowly dialed in, adjusting to the low light of the forest. There were thin cybernetic systems that ran along her cheeks and slid back towards her ears, but they did little to hamper the elegant lines of her high cheek bones. Her helmet was clipped to her belt, the young woman preferring to work with what little dim light shimmered down from the canopy and her own ocular enhancements instead of relying upon the standard issue photo-visor to light the way.

"Ma'am." The trooper said softly, speaking in a low voice as she looked to Cecilia for orders. Her cheeks were red around the cybernetics, stung by the cold, but her eyes were piercing and attentive, her pupils dilating slowly, still adjusting for the light. Her hands held her rifle before her, the weapon steady across her chest; the constant running and climbing had done little to hamper her well-honed skill.

"Where are the Orks?" Cecilia spoke softly, though she didn't whisper, not wanting her voice to carry on the wind.

Maeve nodded her understanding and closed her eyes, turning slowly, letting the vox components of her cybernetics listen for even the smallest sound in the dark, dim forest. She froze, listening, hearing the faint sound of Ork grunts and gunfire off in the distance. She raised her longlas, peering through the scope, searching the distance for the Ork formation. The sight of yellow bolt rounds and the flash of green skin and crude armor flashing amongst the trees confirmed her sharp ears, the Orks roaring and arguing amongst themselves. She continued scanning the distance slowly, her weapon barely moving along the massive distances, but a brief flash of light drew the attention of her weapon slightly closer. The weapon tracked something slowly for a number of seconds before the sharpshooter lowered the weapon and looked back to her commander. "The Orks seem to have stopped, ma'am, but it looks like they're organizing patrols."

"Patrols?" Cecilia murmured, kneeling, watching as Maeve withdrew down from her perch at the very top of the outcropping. "These Orks are strangely clever."

Her comm-bead crackled and Tawes' voice carried through the static in her ear. "Ma'am, I've found something you might want to take a look at."

"What is it, Sergeant?" Cecilia asked, subvocalizing the question.

"Ma'am…" His voice crackled out for a second before returning. "I don't honestly know. You might want to bring the platoon. I think I might have found what we're looking for."

Cecilia frowned, looking towards where the Orks were now busy chopping up branches, tossing them into massive fires. The flames were already casting brilliant gold and orange light shows upon the trees, the glows spreading closer through the forest as the Orks made camp, the shadows of the Orks casting giant shadows like great chaos beasts of legend. The Orks did not look like they were going to move before first light, content to make camp where they marched. "We're on our way. Hold your position."

"Aye, ma'am." The sergeant muttered, the static of the vox snapping off in her ear.

"Everyone on me." Cecilia ordered softly, pulling her troops to attention. "We might have found a lead on our target."

"What about the Orks?" Holtz muttered, jerking a thumb back at their camp.

"Do they look like they're going anywhere?" Maeve muttered softly, casting him an annoyed eye. "We could find them from a hundred miles away with as much of a racket as they're making."

"Yeah, yeah." Holtz muttered, shrugging.

"Enough." Cecilia said tersely, cutting off her two subordinates before their bickering grew any worse. "Holtz. You're lead. We move in one."

The sergeant rolled his eyes but slid down the side of the outcropping, dropping and stumbling into position at the head of the line. Maeve landed almost silently, dropping low, absorbing the impact with her knees before raising her rifle and scanning the terrain ahead. She frowned for a moment and then gestured away from the Ork camps. "This way."

Holtz cast her a frown as he opened his mouth to reply, but he simply nodded as Cecilia cut him off with a click on the platoon band of the vox, indicating they were to move out.

He rolled his eyes and started forward, letting Maeve's eyes and ears guide their path.

…

When they had found him, Tawes was kneeled, frowning as he examined a felled tree. The forest had started to thin as they had moved up the rise, using the cover of night to scout the area while Cecilia's platoon tracked the Orks, picking their way through the forest towards the top of the low, rocky mountain. The trees had decreased in size, many of them young judging by their size. They were wind-swept and scraggly, some barely clinging to the sharp outcroppings of rock that jutted from the slope at violent angles. However, as they followed the path further up the slope, the track had dipped into the mountain, a small plateau formed on the side of the slope. Rocky spines flanked both sides and the trees had been able to finally grow out a bit, most of them looking stunted but healthy. The rocky spires that jutted forth were violent and angry, the dim evening light gleaming off the sharp angles, covered with ice and snow. Tawes grunted, kicking over a shrub, standing atop the rugged plant as if it were an Ork's throat. Behind the shrub were the remains of a wind-racked tree that had tried to grow around a small boulder, its roots grasping and clinging to the stone. It had been trampled by what was decidedly an animal paw print, marked by a series of ovals, arrayed with four small indentations in front of one large one, the central pad easily as wide as Cecilia's armored waist and nearly an entire pace from the foremost wicked claw to the rear of the leading pad. She kneeled, examining the damage done to the tree.

"Something came through here in a hurry." Holtz grunted, kicking at the hard packed snow, much of it tossed wildly about, as if something massive had slammed into the tree, knocking it asunder. A massive paw print was left in the snow, deep furrows marring the ground as if the creature had led a pack through here, kicking up snow and dirt with their claws.

Maeve kneeled over the snowy paw print, gently pressing her fingers about the impressions. "It's definitively canine." She murmured softly, slinging her rifle over her shoulder, grimacing as she looked at the pattern of prints that were spread out along the ground. "The animal was running here." She gestured to the heavy scratch marks that lead up the hill, letting her fingers slowly drag up the long marks left in the snow. She picked up a chunk of mud and ice, turning it over in her hand as she walked along the trail, moving further up the hill. There was blood on the underside of the chunk of ice she held in hand, though it had sullied in color as if it were not fresh. Maeve frowned, the large scars traced over each of her eyes creased slightly where they ran from midway up her forehead down to the top of her cheekbone, disappearing beneath the metal cybernetics. She let her fingers trace up to where the full paw print had been formed. She paused, letting her fingers slowly trace along the main depression of the paw's central pad. "The creature stopped here, likely looking at something." Maeve said softly, looking at the print. "The impressions from the pads of the fingers are slightly widened where it turned in place."

"What was it looking for?" Cecilia asked, looking at the scout-sniper. Maeve kneeled in place, frowning, scanning the ground, letting her gaze follow the two diverging paths, one after the other.

"I don't know." Maeve said, shaking her head, peering up towards the top of the hill. She tossed the bloodied chunk of ice and mud up and down in one hand, the other gripping the strap of her rifle still slung over her shoulder. "Whatever it was, it was baiting the wolves to follow it."

"Baiting?" Holtz muttered, frowning. "Baiting a dog this big? That… that seems like a really bad idea."

"It's not a dog." Maeve said softly. "These are the tracks of wolves. You've seen them. I've seen them. And something or someone was baiting these creatures to follow them here." The scout moved forward a bit, noticing a thick ridge that marred the ground, slowly dragging up towards the clearing at the top of the hill. She moved across the path towards the divide, frowning as she brushed powdered snow away and kicked chunks of mud aside, slowly working her way along the entrance to the divergence. She kneeled down at the base of the fallen tree, fiddling with a few odd branches. "There is evil at work here…"

"See something else?" Cecilia asked, casting Holtz a dirty look to quell his comment before it was made. The sergeant tossed up his hand in mock exasperation, shaking his head, though Cecilia spotted a thin smile flash on his face as he rested his lasgun over his leg, watching as Maeve worked.

"Possibly." Maeve murmured, tugging a bit of rotten flesh from the stump and yanking a piece of loose pine limb free, tossing it aside. She stood up, looking down at the ground before her. "I think I found what was baiting the wolves." She gestured for Cecilia to move closer and the lieutenant, Tawes and Holtz all did so, moving slightly closer and peering down into the brush that Maeve had kicked aside. A messy show of thick, wide rectangles in a rough pattern had been torn in the ground, disappearing into the forest beyond, peeling away on a heavily forest path that wound back around the side of the low mountain, though the marks were quickly covered up by the paw prints and torn up by something else.

"Evil? More like tank tracks." Holtz muttered. "I didn't think these paths were wide enough for armor." He shook his head, a joke failing to appear on his lips.

"You'd have to be bloody mad to try and use tanks in this terrain." Tawes said, shaking his head. "Only the green-skin xenos scum would be crazy enough to deploy armor in this forest. Even then, they'd get stuck on just about every damn tree, rock, and root…" His voice trailed off as he turned, looking over the forest spread out around them. "Emperor forbid you slide off the damn mountain."

"Was it Ork or something else?" Cecilia asked, pushing herself up, examining the tread patterns, knocking at the walls of the depression with her boot. Something struck her as odd about the tread patterns. This was a well-travelled path, clear ruts in the snow where something had carved deep gouges in the mud even before the snow had fallen, but if the path had been used by armored vehicles in the past, something had caused them to be careless on their latest pass along the path.

"I don't know, ma'am." Holtz grunted, tugging at the stump for a moment before drawing his bayonet and using it to hack a chunk of the tree off. He stood up, sheathing his bayonet and drawing a small glow orb, shining the bright white light over the wood. It glimmered with something silvery, a hunk of tattered metal wedged in the congealed blood covered wood. "Looks like there were dragging something metal behind them to tear up the tracks in the snow. It likely had some sort of meat on it to try and draw the wolves out to either scare or deceive the Orks." He levered himself about, moving towards the center of the divergent path. "Maeve, tell me what you think." He paused, gesturing to the embankment where ruts had been carved away from the mud wall. "Looks like one tread was fighting for purchase as they maneuvered through the forest. Driver tried to take the turn too fast, slid the tail out and jammed it into the embankment and the tree." He looked to the redheaded scout who could only shrug.

"Impossible to tell for sure." Maeve murmured as she drew her rifle, frowning as she looked up the hill. "Vehicles could have gone both ways. Could be days old, could be hours old. The trees form all manners of impossible barricades for the vehicles. Despite this, we don't know who's been moving in the forest."

"Just remember." Tawes grunted, a grim but crooked grin sliding onto his face. "'If you're leaving tracks, you're being followed'." He chuckled softly, checking his lasgun.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Holtz grunted, shaking his head. "You and your damn cryptic messages, old man."

Maeve leaned in with the smile of a conspirator as she whispered. "I'm surprised he's been able to hold them in this long."

The humor drained from Tawes' face as he reared up to his full height, standing on equal footing with the younger sergeant. He cast Maeve a disapproving look as if he had heard what had been said, but the woman stepped away and the sergeant's gaze turned back to the challenger at hand. Tawes' voice dropped to a low menace. "Just because you're the same rank as me, boy, don't think you can back talk me."

Holtz's face was angry, and for a moment it looked like the two of them would come to blows, but Cecilia stepped between then, pressing against both of the sergeant's chests, driving them apart. "Enough, we have a job to do, both of you." She hissed, shooting Holtz an icy glare that caused him to sigh and turn away. Cecilia turned to glare at Tawes, but the sergeant had many decorated years of service to his name, and nearly as many campaigns under his belt as years Cecilia had been alive. She often deferred to his seniority and input, even when he only had one of his annoying little sayings to offer, but the entire mission seemed to have him off balance. "If you have a problem, you know the protocol. You bring it to me." Tawes finally let himself be pushed back a step, shooting the shorter lieutenant an annoyed look.

"Just remember, lieutenant." Tawes said softly, looking down at her. "Your name is in the mouth of others: be sure it has teeth."

Cecilia sighed, posting her fist upon her hips, shooting Tawes an annoyed look. "What?"

Tawes spitted her with an icy glare. "When the time comes, I hope all of your soldiers are ready. If they're not because you try to cover up every little issue with your love of rules and regulations, you had better hope that they're ready to fight their own battle for the first time. When you defend that idiot, you're only making him weaker."

"That is quite enough, sergeant." Cecilia hissed, not standing to have her command challenged so publically. "Any more lip and I'll see you trussed up like a grox, stowed in a very deep foxhole, and hopefully someone will remember to come and get you before we leave." Tawes only grunted, his gaze cold and calculating, as if trying to determine how much further he could push. "Do not test me right now, _sergeant_. We have a job to do and I won't let you being stubborn stop us from completing our goal."

There was sparkle of fire in Tawes' eyes as if he was looking to rise to the challenge, but it faded to a proud smile. "You don't have to use such big words, ma'am. We're in the field. You can just call me an ass if that's how you feel." Cecilia sighed, rolling her eyes. "So, ma'am, what's the plan?" Tawes grabbed his lasgun with both hands, lifting it up behind his neck, looking expectantly to the lieutenant.

"We find out just what it is that's tracking the Orks." Cecilia said firmly, looking to Tawes. "Each squad will take a path, and meet back here in thirty if the paths don't intersect again. If a squad doesn't return within ten of the designated time, follow their trail. Sync your chrons. Ready, mark." A timer started ticking down on her wristchron and she nodded her head affirmatively. "We'll take the main path, Tawes you follow the secondary path around."

"Yes ma'am." Tawes said, nodding gruffly as he waved his unit forward, gesturing down the path. "Sebastian, I want you and your shotgun leading the way. Heavy bolter team right behind him and then the rocket launcher right after." There were barked affirmations as Tawes' squad formed up into a ragged line in the order he had designated. Tawes tossed Cecilia a loose salute. "Call if you need help, ma'am. 'Covering fire covereth a multitude of sins.'"

"Last time it was 'close air support covereth a multitude of sins." Maeve quipped, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "And the time before that it was 'fire support'."

"What can I say?" Tawes said, shrugging. "'Incoming fire is incoming fire, no matter where or who it comes from'." Cecilia saw Maeve sigh.

Cecilia scowled at the older sergeant, but he had already turned and started moving his squad forward along the descending path, the heavily armored giant, Sebastian 'the Bastion', already having disappeared beyond the first rocky outcropping that obscured the turn around the side of the hill.

"Holtz, you're in front." Cecilia ordered firmly. "Maeve, I want you behind him, watching his back."

"Great." Maeve muttered under her breath, exhaling softly. "Wait for it… and…."

"What, at least you've got a bloody good view." Holtz chuckled as he returned. He shot the retreating form of Tawes an ugly look before offering the redheaded sniper a grin, patting his butt.

"And there it is." Maeve muttered as she shook her head. "Keep it up, Holtz. The stock of my rifle might just find its way up your arse."

"Be still my fluttering heart." Holtz said with a wide grin, pressing his hand to his chest and rolling his eyes, bowing shallowly in Maeve's direction.

"Is that a request?" Maeve growled, shouldering her rifle. Holtz started to turn to hurl a retort at her, but he clamped his mouth shut when he saw the glare the Cecilia was shooting them both.

"Stow it, both of you." Cecilia hissed, her rifle resting in the crook of her arms. "Squad one, form up." She subvocalized and she turned, watching as her Grenadiers rose up from the sides of the track, slowly resuming their plod up the trail, getting into position in their own staggered line, their weapons and eyes spread out around the slowly receding wilderness.

She paused, looking down the path after Tawes, a frown on her face. Tawes was a good if gruff man and an even better Grenadier, but he was as hot headed as a standard issue Hellgun. If he ran into whatever they were tracking first, there wouldn't be anything left of either him or his opponent but scrap metal and lasgun stained ash.

Cecilia snorted. _Tawes would likely try and punch through a wall before he'd ever blast through it or simply walk around._

* * *

"Anything, Bastion?" Tawes subvocalized, frowning as he kneeled in the mud, feeling the water swirling around his knee, the ice clinging to the armored plate that covered his knee.

"Not yet sir." Sebastian muttered, his shotgun sweeping the path ahead. "Looks like a split in the path; the tracks lead in both directions. Permission to scout ahead?"

"Damn." Tawes growled, letting the sound rumble through the subvocalized channel. "Permission denied. Hold position."

Tawes shook his head, waving the trail of soldiers behind him down to the side of the rough track, indicating they should take cover. The men responded instantly, each soldier slowly fading into the brush that curled over the edge of the road. He watched them disappear, nodding to himself with a satisfied expression as the brush rustled before falling still. He moved slowly along the road until he was at the split and he kneeled just at the edge, glancing around, looking for his scout. "Bastion?" He growled softly. "Where the hell are you?"

A bush shivered off to the sergeant's left and he spun, bringing his lasgun up, aimed squarely at the center mass of the green foliage. He froze, his finger hovering above the trigger, but the hulking form of Bastion appeared, rising out of the brush. He slid from the tree line, his shotgun held loosely in his hands. "Bless the Emperor, Bastion." Tawes grunted, shaking his head. "I nearly put a blast through your faceplate." He sighed softly. "What do we have?"

Bastion shrugged, moving to the center of the road so he could look down both paths. "I took a cursory look along the left path, and it appears that some of the tracks head that way. However, that'll take us further from the Lieutenant's supposed route of advance. The right path appears to wrap back up around the slope. It could connect us with the El-Tee's squad." He paused, frowning, looking to the sergeant for orders. "What's the call, sarge?"

Tawes grunted, scratching at his chin as he pulled out a folded map, turning it over in his hand, trying to find his location. He keyed his spot lamp in the dimming evening light, aiming it down at the ground, flashing it over the map.

"Sir… are you sure that's wise?" Bastion murmured, glancing about, seeing harsh shadows cast about the intersection, dark beasts seemingly lurking beyond the soft rays of dim red light. The shadows were violent, like great feral monsters lurking just in the shadows.

"There's nothing here." Tawes growled after several moments of inspecting the map. "These tracks are probably months old." He looked down at the ground, kicking at the packed ice with his boot before glancing at his chron. "That Maeve is young and blinded by her enthusiasm for the hunt. These tracks look like standard training procedure for stealth based movements during winter operations of Imperial Guard forces."

"I've never seen anything like this." Bastion muttered, kneeling down and running his fingers along a shallow gash in the snow that had been carved by being dragged along the surface. "It hardly seems like standard protocol, sir."

"It's commonly found on ice worlds." Tawes said, shrugging. "And even then, it's only common among mechanized Special Forces units who're aiming to avoid being identified or having their movements tracked. You haven't ever gone through training like that, have you?"

Bastion grunted and shook his head. "No, sir, I can't say that I have."

"Didn't think so." Tawes muttered, shaking his head, turning the map over in his hand, frowning as he looked down at it, flipping in again, his frown growing wider. "Son of a-…" He sighed, turning the map a third time. "These damn logging trails are like a damn spider's web. It's impossible to tell where we are." He grunted as he turned the map around and around, his frustration building.

The soft whine of an armored vehicle's turret motor could be heard over the silence of the forest.

"Wha-…" Bastion shut his mouth immediately as Tawes shot him a vicious glare, his spot lamp snapping off. Tawes stood up straighter, looking slowly around the clearing. He froze, peering into the gloom, seeing a single round ring now peaking from the brush and shadows beyond, the menacing twist of rifling disappearing into the circle's central abyss.

"Oh feth…" Bastion muttered, freezing.

Tawes took a half step back, starting to slowly bring his rifle up. The turret tracked him as he tried to move laterally, slowly, and he grunted, letting his stance settle as he glared at the turret. Bastion gave him an incredulous look as if he thought his commander was going to try and stare down a tank. Light flooded the area, a brilliant spot light gleaming down, illuminating the center of the intersection in brilliant light. Tawes had to cover his eyes, growling at beam.

"Identify yourself!" A voice snapped, the tone decidedly vox-modified.

"Get ready, Bastion." Tawes subvocalized. "You take off towards the forest line to your right, I'm going to break right."

"If you're planning something, don't even try it." The voice crackled and Tawes froze. "You're completely surrounded."

Tawes' eyes narrowed as he glanced slowly around him. The brush shivered and two soldiers, clad in Imperial Guard's winter gear appeared, their shoulders adorned with furs and sticks laden with leaves. They carried standard issue lasrifles, which both had shouldered and aimed at the two Grenadiers. Three more appeared from the direction of the tank's barrel, two wearing furs and bits of stick and leaf to break up their outline, but the central one of the three looked like a tanker, his uniform slight, his face gaunt and tense. He wore a padded leather cap on his head, and had a vox communicator headset wrapped around his neck. Each shoulder bore a protective guard, the Aquila still emblazoned over the right armored plate. The chest of the tanker's jacket bore the symbol of no branch of the Imperial Guard that Tawes recognized.

"You're PDF, aren't you?" Tawes growled softly, narrowing his eyes. "Or are you traitor guardsman, fallen to chaos?"

"We are loyal sons of the emperor, yes." The central man said tersely in heavily accented Low Imperial Gothic, raising his bolt pistol and aiming it directly at Tawes' head. "But who are you? Identify yourself and surrender your weapons now or we will be forced to open fire."

"Loyal sons of the emperor?" Tawes snorted, his temper flaring. "Who the feth are you to threaten me?"

"Sergeant…" Bastion grumbled softly through the sub vocalization channel, but Tawes raised his hand and waved him off.

"No, shut up." The sergeant raised his lasgun up, pointing it at the tanker. The man stopped, his fist tightening around his bolt pistol. Lasguns came up as the men pointed them all at Tawes. "If these men truly are PDF troops still loyal to the Emperor, they're here because they ran from battle. They're cowards who shirked their duty and turned tail. They are as good as traitors in my eyes."

The tanker shook his head. "You're delusional."

"And you're pissing me off." Tawes snapped. "If you're still loyal to the Imperium, stand down or I'll have my men give you the Emperor's Benediction and have you shot here and now for cowardice under fire."

"What men?" The officer said, a thin smirk sliding onto his face. "You and your large companion here are the only ones left."

Tawes narrowed his eyes, glaring at the man. "Second squad, come in." He subvocalized the command but there was no response in his comm-bead, only the dim hiss of static.

"Don't worry." The man said, turning down the road and waving into the gloom. "They're not dead." A group of Tawes's men were marched out, their arms up and laced behind their helmets. PDF troopers clad in a motley assortment of furs, most using sticks, leaves, and other foliage to break up their outlines, held lasguns to the Grenadiers, a few more troopers following up at the rear, carrying some of the heavier weapons. They piled the captured weapons at the center of the intersection, and the roar of a tank's petrochem engine growling to life could be heard through the forest. The Grenadiers all shifted slightly, and Tawes could see that they were all looking for some way to break free of their captors before any more forces arrived.

"You're making a big mistake, you bloody coward." Tawes growled, still refusing to relinquish his weapon.

"No, sergeant, you are." The tanker growled. "You are. You call us cowards, your call us scared, and yet your know nothing of the struggles and the conflicts we've faced. You know nothing of us and yet you would be so ready to slaughter us simply because you think us cowards?"

Tawes growled softly, his eyes narrowing at the tanker. "You'll regret doing this, I can guarantee that."

"If you're referring to your second squad, my commander is preparing to deal with them shortly." The tanker said, indulging in a small grin. "Hopefully they're more cooperative than you. My commander isn't one for insults."

Tawes started to snarl a retort, but one of the PDF troopers behind him was already in motion. The man brought his rifle up, bringing the butt down on the back of Tawes' neck. His vision exploded with stars, swallowed by darkness as he tumbled to the ground.

…

"Are you going to put up a fight?" The tanker asked the massive Grenadier, his shotgun still held loosely in his hands. "You'll have to excuse my behavior, but I have neither the time nor patience for more of your sergeant's foolish bravado right now. I'm sure you understand."

"No, not really." Bastion growled softly, eyeing the tanker, who simply shrugged. "You won't harm our squad? I have your word?"

"Yes." The noncom responded, nodding. "This is as much for your protection as it is for ours until our commanders have had a chance to… ah, sort things out."

Bastion grunted but tossed his shotgun onto the ground, drawing his handgun slowly and tossing it as well. "May I check on my sergeant?" He asked, and the tanker nodded.

"Hopefully he didn't get hit too hard." The man said, nodding. "Otherwise you'll have to carry him." He turned and marched away, looking to an infantry sergeant who had appeared, waiting for orders, looking at the tanker. "Bring up one of the Chimera and load their weapons up. We need to meet up with Hammer. He's going to need back up to deal with the other squad."


	7. Chapter 4: Hammer

The hill had steepened towards the top, but the Grenadiers under Lieutenant Raath had managed the hill easily. They had mounted the final slope quietly and carefully, pausing at the edge of the sheltered plateau. Cecilia had left guards down the slope a ways, well within range of their comm beads, which had resumed normal function now that they were outside the thick forest. She waved her troops down at the edge of the clearing, most of them checking weapons eagerly, eyeing the open area before them with trepidation, most uncomfortable being free of the cover of the forest. There was little cover between their current position and where the track disappeared again into the forest across the clearing. Trees circled with area, casting dark shadows on the snow and rock and brush beyond.

"There's something here." Maeve murmured softly, kneeling next to Cecilia, her rifle raised and scanning the perimeter of the clearing for threats.

"What do you see?" Cecilia asked softly, not bothering to subvocalizing the question, instead simply speaking softly to her scout-sniper. Maeve's rifle slowly tracked over the field of ice and snow, and then it froze, snapping up slightly.

"Contact. Eleven o'clock. Approaching slowly." She hissed softly.

"Weapons front." Cecilia subvocalized, bringing all of her troopers to attention, their weapons coming up in a rough firing line that was aimed towards the center of the clearing. "Range?"

"Fifty meters and holding." Maeve murmured softly, adjusting a knob atop her scoped longlas, taking a deep breath. "I can take him now if you wish."

"No, hold your fire." Cecilia said, frowning. "Is the contact alone?"

"He appears to be, yes ma'am." Maeve said softly. "It is likely he has friends around, though. Vision is obscured all along the forest line."

"Damn." Cecilia muttered softly.

"Ma'am…" Maeve murmured, a frown decorating her face.

"What is it?" Cecilia asked, peering over the bank of snow she had dropped down behind. She saw a flapping rectangle of material that man had hoisted, but she couldn't make out the details in the wildly flapping flag.

"He's flying an Imperium Aquila." Maeve said, sinking back from her rifle, a frown marring her lips. "He's looking directly at our position. I think he knows we're here."

"He does know we're here." Cecilia muttered, frowning. She grimaced, glancing behind her at her troops. She waved Louis forward, the vox operator slinking forward and dropping down next to her, waiting for an order. "Get me an encrypted line to Tawes."

"Ma'am." Louis nodded, setting about connecting the line, trying to call up the sergeant. "Sergeat Tawes, come in. This is First Squad, please respond." He spoke with a soft voice, covering his mouth and the receiver so the sound wouldn't carry. He repeated his hail a few times, but after nearly two minutes of calling and waiting, there was no response. "I'm getting nothing ma'am."

"That's not like Tawes." Cecilia muttered, frowning. "He knows communications protocol…" She sighed softly. "Has anyone been trying to hail us on any known Guard channels?"

"Nothing ma'am." Louis said shaking his head. "Or I would have picked it up."

"I know, Louis." Cecilia nodded slowly, glancing back at the field, seeing the man still sitting distant, a large weapon at his side. "Louis, I want you to patch this encrypted channel into my comm bead so if Tawes is listening but unable to communicate, he can hear everything we say on this channel."

"Aye, ma'am." Louis said, setting about the task.

"Maybe he ran into whatever left the tracks?" Holtz asked, frowning.

"It's possible." Cecilia said, frowning thoughtfully. "Fine. We do this the hard way."

"Ma'am?" Maeve asked, raising an eyebrow. "You want me to shoot him?"

"No, but get in position and line up a disabling shot." Cecilia said softly. "Holtz, spread half the men out in five meter intervals, lasguns fore and aft. I don't want anyone sneaking up behind us or ambushing us from the front." She paused for a second. "Have Rex set up his bolter facing the target. If something goes south, I want him to paste everything in the clearing, your hear me?"

"Ma'am?" Holtz muttered, frowning.

"You heard me." Cecilia said softly. "Nothing gets out alive if I go down, but I want you to make sure everyone is holding their fire until either I give the word or someone opens fire. Are we clear?"

"Crystal, ma'am." Holtz said, nodding. He grunted a soft chuckle. "If Tawes were here he'd probably have some stupid saying like 'Only you can prevent friendly fire'." Holtz had a mocking tone as he spoke, and Louis snorted, but Cecilia said nothing. Grimacing at the lack of a response from the lieutenant, he set about organizing the troopers into position, moving them about with short bursts of subvocalized communications. Rex seemed hesitant at the idea of mowing his lieutenant down, but Holtz assured him it was unlikely to be needed.

Cecilia glanced at Louis. "Is it done?"

"Yes, ma'am." He confirmed, nodding. "You're good to go."

"What about the rest of the men, leftenant?" Holtz asked, frowning.

"We have no choice." Cecilia murmured. "We have to abide by our comm silence, and if they're not opening communications, we have to investigate. That's our mission here. Holtz, form up half the squad and follow me."

"Yes ma'am." Holtz grumbled softly, frowning.

They stepped out of the cover of the edge of the forest and started moving towards the center of the clearing where the newcomer sat, waiting, an Imperial Guard flag posted next to him, the shaft jammed deep into the mud. The flag was tattered and torn, the edges frayed and the color pale and faded. Splatters of mud and grime decorated the flag like trophies, the Aquila's silver thread tarnished and dim in the dull evening light. The flag looked beaten and heavily worn, but it was nothing next to the man who sat atop the stump of a felled tree.

The man had dark stubble lining his harsh chin, his eyes dark and slightly sunken, and his hair dirty and long. He wore a cloak of wolf fur round his shoulders, over the armor of an Imperial Guardsman. Cecilia looked closer, keeping her weapon trained on the man, and noticed the subtle differences between his armor and that of a rank and file trooper. He had a thick leather jacket under standard issue body armor, armored plating secured to either shoulder, one pauldron placed over the fur cloak, the other tucked beneath. His hand rested upon a heavy stubber, the weapon resting against the inside of his leg, the barrel raised up in the air, a chain of rounds dangling from the breach. His eyes were a cold, dark green, fire and anger blazing at Cecilia as she stepped forward, her weapon still trained upon his chest. The emblem of the Cedrus PDF was emblazoned over his heart, though it was faded and scratched nearly away.

Cecilia stood at arms a dozen paces away, matching his glare.

"Who are you?" The man growled, his green eyes quickly scanning the squad of soldiers that had emerged from the tree line behind Cecilia. She narrowed her eyes, looking at the soldier. His uniform was worn and matted with mud and blood, and though the man wore a laspistol one his hip, he left it clipped in his leather holster. A pair of large eared vox-phones hung around his neck, a well-worn pair of magnoculurs resting upon his chest.

Cecilia stood before him, her weapon trained upon his head as she grimaced, waving Holtz and Louis forward. "Spread out and maintain a perimeter." She subvocalized, noticing the faux-guardsman's eyes narrow as she did. _He's familiar with Special Forces._ "Tawes, is he alone?" A crackle of silence in her vox-bead answered her. "Tawes? Still nothing, Louis?"

"Nothing ma'am." The vox-officer replied.

A thin smile played across the man's face, an almost predatory smile upon his lips. "Your sergeant is indisposed currently. You're going to have to deal with me if you want him back."

"You traitorous bastard." Cecilia snarled, raising her weapon to her shoulder, pointing it at the man's head. He looked up, his eyes swirling with mirth and anger. He gestured to himself, taking an aggressive step forward as he snarled at her.

"Traitorous?" He hissed, pushing himself up, raising the stubber with a single hand. "Do it! Pull the trigger, you child! The Emperor's Benediction would be the easy way out of the forsaken hellhole of a planet!" Cecilia froze, seeing his strength as he raised his weapon, leveling it with Cecilia's torso. She looked up into his eyes, seeing the burning anger as he glared back at her. There was a hollowness in his eyes as if he were already dead. "You'll find no more loyal son of the Imperium than I, lieutenant." His voice was full of cold menace and barely veiled fury as his hand flexed around the grip of the stubber. Cecilia's brow hardened as she slid back, dropping her weapon from her shoulder, hesitating for a moment as she pulled her helmet off, letting her blonde hair spill out. It cascaded down her shoulders as she glared at the soldier. His eyes betrayed something other than anger for only a second, but it was gone in an instant as she peered into his eyes. There was anger and frustration beneath his bushy brows. "I find it sad that the Imperium would send not an army to rescue those who survive, but rather hunter-killer teams to slay those who still fight on like dogs."

"Don't lie." Cecilia hissed, drawing her power saber and leveling it with the man's chin. She lifted it up, looking into his eyes, seeing the furious glare she shot back at her. "How is it you still live when every other member of the PDF is left in shallow graves and rotting upon the fields of battle, dead for their attempts to protect their home? You're a bloody coward, nothing more than scum, and for that you should be sentenced to death!" Lisarah drew her power saber, raising it up to the man's neck as he took another step forward. He grinned with a vicious bark of laughter, seeing her shaking hand, her thumb poised over the ignition rune. "Shut your mouth or you're dead!"

"Death?" The soldier laughed coldly, his face snapping back from the mocking laughter as he looked at Cecilia. The intensity of his glare took her aback and she hesitated slightly. "You know nothing of death. You're only a little girl with a few friends and a toothpick." He snarled, pushing forward, letting the power saber push along his neck. If the weapon had been activated it would have easily sliced his head off, but the man's eyes betrayed no fear, only anger.

"You're not only a coward but completely mad!" Cecilia snapped, pulling back. "You should've stayed beneath whatever rock you crawled out from under! I should kill you now for your insolence!"

The man let his head hang back as he bellowed a deep laugh, his voice cold and vicious. "I'd love to see the world from your perspective, but sadly, my head doesn't fit that far up my ass. Kill me if you wish, but know, if you wish to do me harm, you and every one of your men will fall before my knees hit the ground."

"You have only a stubber." Cecilia snapped back. "You might take me, but my men would fell you before you managed to turn your weapon on anyone else."

"You think I'm alone?" He growled, a grin sliding across his face. It was sly and cold, like a wolf. "You're green. A pity." He reached up and pressed a button on his voxphones.

The edge of the forest seemed to shudder around them and the wolf-fur clad soldier's men came up from behind shelters dug in the snow, kicking the netting aside as they stepped out, at least two lasguns aimed at Cecilia and each of her unit as she did a quick count as the beleaguered troopers stepped out. They were thin and weary looking, but where most would look tired or broken, it looked as if these men had been hardened to adamantium by the pressure they were suffering. Their weapons were as steady as rocks, their gazes undeterred.

"Tawes! Damn you!" Cecilia subvocalized, struggling to maintain a straight face, a stony grimace settling on her pursed lips.

A smile spread over the feral looking officer's bearded face as he watched the frustration mount. "Your sergeant is indisposed, currently." He chuckled softly.

Cecilia growled softly, fire in her brown eyes as she watched the officer shoulder his weapon, tapping the voxphones again. He turned and looked to a gap in the banks of snow at the edge of the clearing. Cecilia furrowed her brow but followed his gaze. She watched as the entirety of her second squad was marched out of the forest, their hands raised behind their heads, their fingers laced together. Six soldiers in PDF emblazoned armor, augmented with cloaks and furs against the cold, pushed them forward, ushering them into a loose line.

"Tawes?" Cecilia snarled, surprised. "How did you-…" A cold look from the veteran sergeant silenced her questions. She fought back the urge to shout at him, biting her tongue as she turned back to the man, seeing a gloating smile plastered across his face. "Just what do you want, pirate?"

The man's smile faded as he looked at her, finally shaking his head. He stood up straight took two steps forward, drawing closer, cause Cecilia to grit her teeth and shrink back, snarling at him. "How many times must I tell you before it sinks into that thick head of yours?" His voice was tired, some of the vehemence fading, replaced with annoyance. "I serve the Imperium, same as you. Unlike you, I had to make a choice. I either led my men to their deaths, or I turned to the only true advantage I had at my disposal." He spread his hands, gesturing to the world around. "This forest is out hunting ground. Here, even the Orks are left as nothing more than mewling sheep. Here, in this forest, no matter the numbers the Orks dare bring, we are the wolves." He leaned in till he was nearly nose to nose with the young lieutenant. "Even the greatest of monsters will bleed to death when you stab it a thousand times."

"You're delusional." Cecilia shot back. "You've gone feral." Her hands trembled, the look on her face as if the man had just admitted to worshipping the blood god Khorne himself. "I'll kill you, here and now…" Her voice said, quivering in revulsion, her saber held in both hands, the tip aimed at the man's chest. She thumbed the ignition rune and the dull hum and shiver of air blurred around the blade, bolts of blue energy crackling along its vicious length. Angry sparks dripped from the blade, snapping and hissing, jumping out from the field as if it was the blade's snarling spirit baying for blood. "If I could, I'd drag you back to face the wrath of wor-…"

The wolf-cloaked officer's head snapped up as he snarled. "Shut your mouth."

"No!" She snapped back. "I am a proud offi-…"

"Shut the feth up and listen!" The officer hissed, his tone fierce. "You were followed! How green can you be!?" He spat crossly, struggling to control his temper, pressing a button on his voxphones. "This is Hammer. Bring the Chimera up and dump their weapons. We have company." Cecilia stood, her mouth ajar in disbelief as the officer started barking orders, turning towards the squad's leader, the soldier wearing a winter cap and a vox headset instead of the standard guard helmet. Cecilia's sword faltered and she frowned, watching him turn his back to her, leaving himself completely vulnerable. "I want a firing line on the forest entrance, now!" His soldiers dropped their weapons from their shoulders, dashing forward and dropping flat into the snow. Their weapons came up but they were no longer pointed at the Grenadiers. Their weapons were trained on the forest where Cecilia had led her troops into the clearing.

"Huh?" Cecilia muttered, confused. Her Grenadiers looked equally confused as they glanced back and forth amongst themselves. "Wha-…"

"Recall the Lance, now!" The officer snarled into the microphone of his vox headset, ignoring the Grenadier lieutenant. "No, I want Might and Retribution to take Warden and Fist Two and set up defensive fall back positions if things turn sour. Send Krourk and the Lady with the Elysian's weapons back to me now and we'll make do. Hammer, out." He gestured to the six soldiers who had lead Tawes and his men into the clearing, though they looked reluctant to lower their weapons from the sergeant and his men.

"What are you talking about?" Cecilia snapped, narrowing her eyes, watching the officer with a cold, withering glare. "Who are you talking to?"

"All in time, little girl." The officer who called himself 'Hammer' sneered. "Gather your men and pray to the Emperor they don't come in numbers."

"Who?" Cecilia asked angrily, but the officer had already turned away.

The howl of petrochem engines winding up and the stink of burning promethium fumes pouring into the air stole her attention away before Cecilia could protest, looking to the forest, expecting an attack. Something deep in the forest had roared to life, and trees started to shudder, cawing birds taking to the air, circling overhead as the howl of engines approached. Suddenly, the ground underfoot began to shake. A boxy shape exploded from the edge of the clearing, the squat form of a Chimera APC taking shape as the snow settled. It was painted with a messy pattern of whites, greys and deep, deep greens, and its turret tracked about, turning towards the entrance to the clearing. Its ramp dropped, tossing snow into the air as PDF troopers in vehicle crew uniforms shoved a pile of weapons down the ramp before disappearing back inside their armored vehicle.

"Pick up your weapons and prepare to defend yourselves!" Hammer barked, gritting his teeth and he moved towards the Chimera, ducking behind it, holding the stubber like a rifle, pointed towards where the path descended back down over the hill to the forest below.

Cecilia watched on in confusion. She traded a glance with Tawes, seeing him shrug. He regarded the troopers with anger, and he took a cautious step forward, as if he were being tested and didn't know if he would be smote for trying. However, none of the PDF troopers moved, staying low to the ground, their weapons held still and quiet.

"Hurry up, you bloody fools!" Hammer snarled, raising his weapon, hissing angrily. "They're here."

"Who!?" Cecilia snapped. "Stop being so bloody cry-…"

"WAAAGH!" An Ork war cry echoed from the forest. The rumble of the Chimera's idling engine was drowned out by the rumble of the ground beneath their feet. The rest of Cecilia's troops poured over the lip of the plateau, scrambling forward, heading towards the transport as if it were an Emperor-sent savior.

The officer tapped his voxphone and snarled into the mic. "Where the feth is Krourk? Five minutes!? We might last half that! Feth it! Just haul ass!" He turned, looking to the Elysians who stood lamely around the clearing, their weapons held at arms, but their gazes simply looking from PDF trooper to the Chimera and back again. The Chimera's squat turret spun with a faint grinding sound, the barrel depressing slowly, the two chain-linked bolters aiming down the hill. The hatch opened atop the tank and the vehicles commander stood in the cupola, dragging a heavy stubber from where it had been left at rest along the side of the turret. He dragged the charging handle back and aimed it down the hill as well.

"All units, this is Gunny Hammer!" The officer snapped. "Hold fire until you see the yellows of their eyes. On my signal!" He keyed the vox back off, turning to the astounded Elysians, his face contorted in an angry mask. "What are you idiots waiting for? Pick up your weapons and join the firing line, damn you!"

Cecilia, snarled back. "I don't take orders from you, Gunnery Sergeant."

"You won't be able to take orders from anyone if you don't get your men on the fething firing line!" He snarled. "I don't have any time or crayons left to explain this. Let me know what it's like to decorate the bottom of an Ork's boot."

"Screw you!" Cecilia snapped, raising her rifle and pointing it at him.

"Get in line!" He roared back. Orks were charging up the hill. "Feth this. You can die for all I care, bitch." He turned, raising his stubber, watching as a sea of muscled green flesh rose over the rise in the hill. The Orks were snarling, their weapons flashing as they snapped off wild shots at the Chimera and Cecilia and her men, the rounds snapping and hissing as they passed close overhead.

"Down!" Cecilia shouted as she killed and sheathed her saber in a single, smooth move, dropping to the snow. "Tawes! Pick up your weapons for feth's sake! Rex! I want you on the left flank firing across the Orks! Try and cut the lines down as they charge. Tawes, put your heavy bolter on the opposite side! Holtz, affix bayonets and follow me!" Cecilia cast the Master Gunnery Sergeant one last hateful glare before crawling forward, her lasgun cradled in her arms. She pulled her bayonet from her belt and snapped it into place just below the muzzle of her rifle, pointing it down range as she clambered up between two PDF troopers and their wolf-skin cloaks. They cast her sneering glares, their faces hard and angular, the dirt and grime that coated their skin giving them a darkened, angry appearance over their gaunt features. She ignored them, sighting down her rifle, feeling the ground shaking underneath her.

Cecilia watched as the Orks rose into view, their bodies practically forming a single, teeming mass of green flesh and weapons. Axes and clubs waved overhead, staccato flashes of fire lighting the Orks as they pushed up the hill, baying and snarling for human blood. Their eyes were a bloodshot yellow, wide and shimmering with rage, their mouth foaming with their hunger for human flesh. They roared their battle cry, some dropping to all fours and galloping up the steep hill, thirsting for blood and battle.

"Now!" The officer shouted, the dull, pounding roar of his stubber ripping into the wall of charging Ork flesh. The whine of the Chimera's autoloaders could be heard echoing from inside the turret, though there was barely a moment's warning before they were drowned out by jaw rattling sound of the Chimera's twin heavy bolters thundering as the gunner blasted away at the wall of Ork. The sickly scent of the fyceline propellant of the bolts and their explosive payloads hung thick in the air as red blood and gobbets of green flesh speckled the snow.

The whine of lasguns rung through the air, the PDF troops opening up into the wall of Ork with a volley of laser fire, the Elysian Grenadiers picking their shots. Boiling red energy shimmered in wave after wave, pouring into the Orks. The sharp, staccato crackle of heavy bolter bursts added to the din as the Elysian bolter teams added their firepower to the avalanche of death crashing into the Orks. The bolter rounds tore through the Orks, exploding through their dense, sinewy flesh. Numerous bolts passed through the first Ork they impacted and exploding into the second. However, for every Ork that was killed, it seemed that two more surged forward to replace it.

Cecilia's nostrils were filled with the hot, ozone stench of lasgun fire as she put another blast into the face of a charging Ork. The beast's tumbling body was simply absorbed by the Ork charge, getting sucked back into the mass of green flesh, hacked apart and tossed aside, the beast's kin charging like animals up the hill. An Ork bolt smashed into the snow in front of her, tossing steam and water into the air. Cecilia hissed as the boiling water splashed over her arms, doing her best to ignore the pain, dropping the power pack from her lasgun, pulling another from a pouch on her belt and slamming it home. The lasgun whined with power and she sighted down the barrel, looking for targets, realizing nearly too late that the Orks were nearly upon her. An Ork lunged at her as she rose up, his massive form looming over her, his axe raised up to cleave her in two. She raised her rifle above her head defensively, preparing for the hammer blow, but the roar of an automatic weapon sounded nearby, the impact of heavy rounds shredding the top half of the Ork's head off, spraying her with blood.

She hissed, dropping back, shoving the Ork's heavy falling form aside as it dropped onto her. She glanced right, seeing the gunnery sergeant toss her a flippant look. She grimaced, turning back to the firing line and blasting an Ork in the leg, sending it crashing to the ground. A second blast to the face put the green beast out of his misery as it reared up, its massive, sinewy arms clawing at the dirt, trying to drag himself within range. A PDF trooper dropped to the ground next to her, a fist sized hole in the man's back from one of the crude Ork bullets. Cecilia forced herself to look away, snapping of another shot, blasting another Ork in the head. It crashed to the ground unceremoniously.

Orks had finally closed the gap on the ragged line of Grenadiers and PDF troopers. All along the lines there were the roar of Orks, the grunts of men fighting for their lives, the clash of finely machined steel against crudely wrought Ork iron. Blasts from weapons on both sides echoed through the snow covered hilltop.

An Ork bore down on Cecilia, his axe raised high over his head as he lashed out, smashing down with the heavy axe. The lieutenant raised her rifle, catching the weapon above her head, her arms threatening to buckle under the force of the blow. The Ork snarled at her, bearing all of his force down upon the weapon, her rifle's metal casing cracking under the force. Cecilia snarled, yanking the weapon to the side, side stepping and slipping back as the Ork's weapon hit the dirt. Cecilia swung her weapon like a club, aiming the stock at the Ork's head, but the cut-down, light-weight lasgun, standard issue to the drop troopers, simply bounced off the Ork's massive tusk like fang. Cecilia glanced from the broken rifle as sparks and smoke poured from the firing mechanism. The Ork roared, taking a lateral strike at the woman. She spat an angry curse as she ducked and rolled, drawing her laspistol and emptied the clip into the Ork's chest. The beast roared as lance after lance of scarlet energy pumped into the green monster's stomach. It raised the axe again, smashing it down blindly, wildly at the officer. She rolled to the side, releasing the power pack from the pistol as ice and mud splashed over her. She started to reach for a replacement power pack, but the Ork had already raised his axe and was swinging it down, forcing her to roll to the side again.

The Ork looked down at her and roared in anguish, simply leaving the axe buried in the mud and reaching down at her. She smashed the ground with his fists before closing them, wrapping them around her neck. The soldier struggled, gripping at the Ork's muscled arm as the beast roared at her, lifting her up. She felt her life slowly starting to ebb as she whimpered, kicking at the wounded patch of the Ork's guts, lashing out over and over with her heavily armored boot. She couldn't breathe, the edge of her vision darkening. She flailed her legs trying to cough, desperate to get away. She reached for her power saber, grasping for the hilt, struggling to draw it. She managed to get the blade clear of the sheath, thumbing the ignition rune and then striking out at the Ork. The Ork's arms fell away, slashed away at the elbows as he stumbled backwards. Several moments of dull recognition passed through the Ork's eyes before it crashed to the ground, dead.

Cecilia shuddered, gripping her neck as she panted heavily, her body shivering. She reached down and grabbed her laspistol, coughing as she slid the charged power pack home into the weapon. She felt faint as she saw the power indicator flash full.

The roar of an Ork stole Cecilia's attention away from the pistol. A massive Ork, a nob nearly twice her height, bore down on her. It had a massive club raised back over its shoulder, preparing for a brutal, sweeping strike.

Cecilia froze, the blade swinging down towards her.

Tracer rounds poured into the side of the Ork's head, tracing down along his body, stitching the Ork's green flesh with holes. The Ork turned sluggishly, half its head missing as it tried to turn to face the new threat, but Hammer simply poured more rounds into Orks flesh till it was torn to ribbons, the creature's arms barely held to its torso by more than a few lengths of sinewy flesh. The Ork growled angrily, trying to lift the club, but it ripped the arm clean off. Cecilia took the Ork's moment of confusion as it looked for its club hand to sweep forward and separate the beast's head from its shoulders with a single slice of her power saber.

Cecilia panted, looking about for the source of the gunfire, but a flash of green movement stole her gaze away as it barreled down upon her. An Ork was charging at her and she attempted to raise her saber to block his sweep of his axe, but the massive weapon caught her blade and stole it from her hands, the glowing, crackling weapon disappearing into the bloody mix of guardsman and Ork before her. She snarled as she rolled away, drawing her pistol and bayonet, but the Ork's charge faltered as it raised its weapon once again. Ork blood splattered over the lieutenant's armor, two cavernous holes in the beast's chest had been blown away, a pair of stray rounds from the Chimera's bolters catching him. The Ork's head looked dazed as he glared down at the holes through his torso, his weapon slowly coming up as he gave a gurgling attempt of a roar, but golden tracers tore into him, rending more flesh from his bone, dropping the Ork to the ground. Cecilia breathed a sigh of relief as she turned, looking for her savior. She looked over and saw the Gunnery Sergeant, his heavy stubber smoking as he looked at her, a stern look on his face as if he was giving her a disapproving glare. "Get up." He snarled crossly. "We're not done yet."

"We're overrun." Cecilia shook her head, turning, looking down at the chaos unfolding below. The PDF and Grenadiers were holding on, barely though. Her hands shook in frustration as she watched a Grenadier from Tawes' squad get gutted by an Ork axe. The soldier pulled a grenade from his belt and pressed the detonation rune, reaching his arm back and striking the Ork in the eye with the grenade. The Ork reeled back, roaring in anguish, clawing at his crushed eye, stumbling back into the wave of Orks. The top of the beast exploded in its entirety, his torso and head exploding into a fine red mist, cutting down a swath of heavy muscled Orks.

"We're not done yet." Hammer snarled. He drew a small vox communicator from his belt, activating a rune that lit up a small red light. He flipped up a cover and mashed the red button below. There was a second of silence as the gunnery sergeant grinned. Ground-shattering explosions rocked the planet beneath them, shaking them about as great gouts of earth sprayed skyward, Ork blood and body parts flying through the air. Gobbets of Ork flesh rained down with ice and bits of rock and tree strewn about. "Renew you defense, men!" The officer snarled, raising his weapon letting a long burst rattle his jaw, scything a group of four Orks near in half, their bodies crashing to the ground, rolling back into the crater left by the explosions. "Cut the beasts down where they stand! Reform the lines!"

The shockwave had sent many of the Orks tumbling back down the hill and the rest were sent stumbling about, dazed by the shockwave of the massive blast. The PDF troopers, rallied by their leader, took advantage of the momentary lapse in the Ork attack and started unloading into the Ork wall of flesh. Blast after surgical blast of lasgun fire cut the Orks down, one after another, and with the momentary break in the Ork savagery, the tide of the battle started to turn.

A massive Ork nob roared from down the hill, its voice echoing through the forest, seemly sapping the confusion from the Ork formation and forcing them back on the attack. However, there weren't many Orks left above the divide left by Hammer's charges, and the Orks were fighting over the uneven ground, clawing and squabbling to get over other Orks, smashing their fellows with their weapons, sending nearly as many Orks crashing back down the hill as those who were going up, every Ork now driven mad with blood lust.

The few remaining Orks at the top of the hill roared, raising weapons and starting to swing madly, sending the PDF defenders reeling backwards from the flailing death blows. The Grenadiers had regained their footing finally though, and they were slowly starting to push back, engaging the Orks in an organized fashion, blasting away with precision, trying desperately to counter the Ork's mad last dash to try and gain the upper footing again. The first of the Orks were starting to make their way over the divide carved in the ascent to the hill, the crevice hollowed from the stone now filled with Ork bodies, some still writhing, shoved into the gap by the blood-maddened Orks. They scrambled over the gap bridged with flesh, charging wildly up the hill, their weapons circling overhead as they roared their wild battle cry.

Cecilia turned, seeing a Grenadier struggling to their feet, dropping a power pack from their lasgun. An Ork barreled towards him, a massive war hammer raised over its head as it roared. The Grenadier saw the Ork and struggled to slide the power pack in, his hands trembling as he fumbled with the weapon, trying to find the power pack well behind the pistol grip of the weapon, finally slamming the pack home. He started to raise the weapon, but the Ork's hammer was already falling, aimed at his head. Cecilia wanted to look away, she had seen many fall to the xenos, but she couldn't force herself to glance away, recognizing the young soldier. "Frederic! Dodge!"

The soldier's head came up instantly, meeting her gaze for a second, something fierce and brutal gleaming in his dark eyes. He slid to the side as if he had been yanked aside by invisible strings, his rifle dropped as ice and mud fountained up, the Ork's club hitting the ground, carving a deep rut in the dirt. Frederic drew the bayonet strapped to his belt, the weapon gleaming as he swung it around, letting the momentum of his swing twist him about, cleaving through the Ork's belly, the razor-honed blade rending through flesh and bone like butter. Frederic slid back as guts slipped from the Ork's body, raising the blade up against as the Ork struggled to hold his intestines in place as the red spaghetti seemed to slide through his fingers. The Ork seemed to be surprised as if there was no pain and he let the guts spill away, trailing from his body. Frederic watching in disbelief as the Ork raised a bloodied arm across his body and backhanded the Grenadier away. Frederic hit the ground hard, rolling through the mud as the Ork raised its weapon, starting slowly forward, its eyes maddened to a red haze of blood lust.

Frederic pushed himself up, grasping at the snow for his weapon, but the bayonet had disappeared, knocked from his grip with the force of the Ork's hammer blow. He froze suddenly though, still on his knees, looking up as the Ork looked over him.

 _Move! Damn you, move!_ Cecilia's voice was frozen in her throat, her weapon hung at her side, her body shivering, the ferocity of the combat rending her mind numb. Frederic's arm came up as the Ork started to swing, freezing the weapon above the Ork's small head. A long, slender blade crackled in his grip, the power saber glowing and hissing as Ork blood sizzled along its length. The blade was planted deep in the beast's shoulder and Frederic ripped it down through the Ork's body as he came up from his knees. He ran the weapon from shoulder to hip, the Ork dropping forward, cleaved in two. Frederic slid from beneath the Ork as it tumbled, but two more were already charging to meet him, their axes raised. One Ork brought his axe down in a vicious strike, but Frederic caught the first axe with the power saber, the weapon sparking and snarling with bolts of energy as the Ork tried to force the weapon down.

The second Ork tried to flank around, raising its axe and prepared to bring its weapon down in a cleaving strike, but Frederic slid back, dragging the first Ork forward. The great green beast caught the second Ork's axe in the neck and it tumbled, its head bouncing away. The second Ork looked surprised, looking down at its fellow, but the moment of shock did not remain as it turned, struggling to reacquire its supposed prey. Frederic spun and drove his blade through the Ork's stomach, ripping the blade from its side, cleaving the Orks spine in two. The Ork roared in pain as it collapsed, its hand clawing at the ground, starting to wave its axe at Frederic, but he dodged and brought the blade down on the top of the Ork's head, driving it into its skull. Frederic keyed the ignition rune as it hung upon the Ork's thick skull, leaning upon the weapon, forcing the blade deeper into the Ork's cranium. Blood and gore splattered up his body as the Ork's head popped violently.

He ripped the blade out with a snarl, casting blood and gore from the unpowered blade, his eyes glistening with excitement as the blood cast a glittering arc upon the snow. His armor was decorated with blood, gobbets of flesh, and bits of bone. He turned, looking for more Orks, charging off in a mad dash along the line where other Orks had broken through.

"He's bloody mad…" Cecilia muttered shaking her head. She scanned the lines and saw that everywhere her Grenadiers and the Planetary Defense troops were engaging the Orks, many locked in brutal melees with the maddened Ork warriors. Slowly her troops were pushing the Ork charge back as Hammer, his Chimera, and her two heavy bolter teams suppressed the Orks that were now struggling to make their way up the hill. The ground had turned to a gore soaked slick of blood and mud, and Orks were scrabbling over each other, maddened by their blood lust to get at the humans.

"You're little trap won't hold them much longer!" Cecilia roared at Hammer over the din of battle. He turned, his mouth open to shout back, but he froze for a moment before pressing his voxphones to his ear. A grin broke over his face.

"Keep firing!" Hammer roared at Cecilia, turning and slapping the back of the Chimera. "Bring her around! Krourk is incoming!" The tank roared to life and lurched forward, crushing the skull of a sundered Ork. The Chimera moved along the edge of the firing line, clearing its previous firing position before lurching to a halt, the roar of the twin heavy bolters nearly deafening as they sprayed explosive death down the hill into the mass of squabbling green flesh. But for every Ork the bolters cut down, there seemed to be two more boiling up the hill. There was a break in the melee as the last of the Orks on the plateau were cut down.

"Reform the line!" Cecilia snarled, barking at her own Grenadiers and the PDF troopers who were starting to falter now. Most were busying themselves with reloading their lasguns, picking up their weapons again, struggling back to their firing positions. The PDF troopers cast her a disdainful glare as if they were about to refuse to listen. "Skirmish line, now!" She bellowed, and though they looked annoyed and exhausted, their bodies soaked in blood and gore, they responded. The PDF soldiers looked hesitant but they formed up, their weapons rising up as they closed ranks, still blasting away at the distant Orks that were struggling just up and over the mud and blood soaked hillside.

A crack echoed from below the hill and Hammer cringed, all of his troops hitting the deck. Something struck the armored hull of the Chimera and bounced off, the explosive round exploding midair in a puff of black smoke and shrapnel. Troopers fell to the ground and some didn't get up, others struggling to their feet.

"Incoming!" Hammer snarled. "Rocket up!" Two PDF troopers clambered to their feet and ducked into the hull of the Chimera. They returned with a large rocket tube, the second soldier carrying a rocket. The first trooper kneeled at the base as the ramp of the Chimera rose up, clanging shut. "Back! Back!" Hammer slapped the hull angrily, stepping away and leveling his stubber as the head of an Ork rose up over the edge of the hill. He cut the Ork down as the guns of the Chimera stopped firing. The tank rumbled softly as it turned in place before lurching backwards, withdrawing back along the plateau, taking cover behind the rise of the hill. Hammer stepped up beside the rocket team, raising his stubber and blasting away at Orks as they rose up over the rise.

The wheeze and clank of a Killa Kan lumbered up from beyond the rise, the squat tubular armored body of the walker, spraying black smoke into the air as it struggled up the slope, its clawed feet clambering up the slope slowly but with little trouble. Bolter rounds and lasgun blasts bounced off the vehicle's armor, and the Kan spat golden tracer rounds forward over the heads of the troopers as they dropped, trying to take shots at the Orks that were slowly advancing behind it.

The loader pushed the missile into the breach of the launcher and connected the leads, patting the back of the gunner before diving to the side, starting to blast away with his lasgun, taking shots at the Kan. The gunner took careful aim and then let the rocket fly, the missile crashing into the Ork walker, sending it toppling backwards in a flaming mass of blackened wreckage. The remnants of the walker crashed down over the Orks that were trying to advance behind it, crushing many as it slid away down the hill.

"Fire!" Cecilia roared, waving her troops forward, unleashing a volley upon the Ork lines, battering them back with the sheer volume of lasgun blasts, the stench of ozone and the acrid scent of charred flesh hanging in the air. "Empty your clips!" She roared as she blasted away, barely lining up shots for center mass with every squeeze of the trigger.

The rumble of an approaching armored vehicle stole Cecilia's attention away from the charging Orks for a few seconds, and her jaw fell open as a squat tank with a tall, boxy turret exploded through the banks of snow that lined the sides of the clearing. It plowed through the thick banks as if they were nothing, parting them, the snow billowing and crashing down like an avalanche. The blocky Hydra flak tank shuddered to a halt where the Chimera had been before, its quad linked barrels tracking around and down, the tank sitting on an incline. The cupola atop the turret popped open and an officer pushed himself out, looking down at Hammer as the weapons tracked around, dropping to the very bottom of the range of declination.

"I heard you boys needed some help!" The commander shouted with a cheery voice.

"Shut up and start firing before I come up there and rip you a new one, Vaughn!" Hammer snarled, gesturing towards the Ork. "You're late!"

"Sorry, boss!" The officer chirped, slapping the top of the turret as the weapons came about. "Open her up!"

The roar of the quad-linked autocannons was deafening, each of the rounds forming a near continuous stream of golden death raining down through the Ork lines. The heavy autocannon rounds tore Ork flesh asunder as if it were nothing, each round passing through an entire squad of Orks, sundering them like nothing. The turret slowly tracked left and right along the Ork attack, mowing the wall of green flesh down with a hose of golden fury, as if it were delivering the Emperor's blessing to the enemies of the sons and daughters of the Imperium. A few seconds of solid, nearly blinding firepower ended with the stink of fyceline heavy in the air, a haze of explosives and smoke lingering on the suddenly silent battlefield.

"Looks like the Orks are retreating, sir." Vaughn shouted with a wide grin as he leaned over the edge of the turret. "Krourk Whirlwind saves the day again."

The glare from Hammer was enough to stifle the younger officer's gloating as the turret tracked around, still slowly scanning the area before them.

Maeve pushed herself up, grunting with the exertion, her front drenched in gore and mud. She shook her head, casting mud and ice that clung to her hair aside as she groaned. "That was… savage. I forgot how hellish battles with Orks could get." She winced slightly as she pushed herself up, but frowned, glancing up at the young tanker who hung from the cupola of the Hydra. "You missed one."

"What?" Vaughn blinked, sitting up in his turret, glancing down range. He raised a pair of magnoculars to his eyes and adjusted the focus before snorting. "Damn, you're right." He smacked the top of the turret a few times, shouting into the tank. "Acquire target! Ten o'clock low! Movement in the open." The turret on the Hydra started to turn, but Maeve was already in motion.

The Grenadier sharpshooter lifted her rifle, examining the mud spattered and heavily battered rifle. She raised her scope, peering down the hill. She took a shallow breath and then exhaled again, squeezing off a single shot. She frowned as she leaned back from the shot, looking over the top of the scope before leaning back in and firing off a second. She stuck the shot for several seconds before sliding back from her rifle, grimacing. "And now we're clear."

"Nice shot." Cecilia said with a grin, watching as the sharpshooter fiddled with her scope, an annoyed look on her face. "Did Holtz make it?"

"Unfortunately." Maeve muttered, rolling her eyes, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. The tall sergeant lumbered forward, looking slightly dazed, his hand clutched over a wound in his arm, his lasrifle strung over his good shoulder.

Holtz had a cross look, his face screwed up in pain. "Bite me, you frigid bi-…"

"Enough, the both of you." Cecilia muttered, cutting Holtz off before he could finish the insult. The look Maeve shot Holtz spoke as if he was dead if he finished the sentence. He glared back but let it go after several moments of intense silence. "Holtz, assemble to men and sweep the remains. I don't want any surprises. Recover what you can from the casualties and prepare the wounded for movement."

"If you're going to ask me for a report like you normally do, I barely have use of my arm." Holtz growled softly. "It's not like I can write at the moment, leftenant."

"An oral report will suffice when you are done, sergeant." Cecilia said. Holtz scowled but moved away to start barking orders, leaving Cecilia with Maeve and Hammer.

"I'm going to watch the approach." Maeve said softly, turning and moving away slowly, shouldering her rifle as she picked her way over the Ork corpses.

Hammer reached up and slapped the side of the tank. "You keep the hill covered till we've withdrawn. If you catch the slightest hint of enemy armor, get the hell out. You hear?"

Vaughn leaned over the edge of the cupola and snorted. "This is payback for being late, isn't it?"

"Maybe." Hammer barked a sharp laughed and then waved for Cecilia to follow him. He headed towards the Chimera, pausing to inspect a deep ding that marred the vehicle's left flank. It was blackened and deep, and it looked to have destroyed one of the internally controlled lasguns, the domed turret ripped upwards right where the barrel should have protruded. "Feth, don't have any spares of those." He muttered, shaking his head as he arrived at the back of the tank. He leaned his heavy stubber, the barrel still smoking, against the frame of the Chimera's door, stepping aside to let two soldiers carry a wounded PDF trooper onboard. He grabbed one of the soldiers as they were leaving to search out more wounded. "Go find one of the Lieutenant's sergeants and coordinate moving their wounded here. Those who can walk will follow the Chimera back to back, the rest of us are escorting the Hydra out of here."

"Aye, Gunny." The man said, nodding, departing in search of Holtz or Tawes.

"Why do you let your men talk to you like that?" Cecilia asked, frowning. She still held her pistol loosely at arms, her gaze glued to Hammer with a thin frown decorating her face.

"Like what?" Hammer growled, raising and eyebrow as he let another wounded soldier limp past and take a seat in the Chimera.

"So… informally." Cecilia muttered, watching the PDF trooper that had assisted one of her Grenadiers into the bay depart again. "How are you able to maintain command if they don't see you as their commander?"

"I'm not their commander." Hammer growled softly. "I'm simply the man who's kept them alive through four solid weeks of combat, running, and struggling to survive with almost nothing while an army of Orks has hounded us up and down the forest."

"So you're the reason we're out here?" Cecilia frowned. "We were led to believe that the Orks were searching for some sort of facility or ruins important to them. I thought it would be survivors of the Platentary Defense Force, or an ammunition dump not a ragtag band of-…"

"Watch what you say." Hammer growled, lifting his chin slightly. "These men are loyal sons of the emperor, each and every one. With all that they've been through, they don't need some posh, green officer telling them they're viewed as traitors and heretics after all this."

Cecilia frowned, seeing the hardened glares that many of the PDF troopers fit her with, their eyes sunken and tired, their skin gaunt and sallow. It was obvious they had suffered immensely, but as she looked around, she saw fire in each of their eyes. She frowned slightly, looking back to Hammer, setting her jaw. "I am not 'green' as you say, and you're still out of line." Cecilia said firmly. "It's my duty as a Leftenant of the 82nd Elysian Storm Troopers to bring you and your men in for questioning. If you are loyal sons of the Emperor, you shall be conscripted to join the battle for the liberation of Cedrus."

"You've got to be kidding me." Hammer growled. "I saw you freeze up in the middle of the battle watching one of your men fight. No veteran officer would do that." He shook his head in disgust, seeing the anger building in her face. "After seeing all this, you've still got that stick up your ass?"

"Pardon me!?" Cecilia hissed, blushing.

Hammer rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He reared himself up to his full height, standing nearly a head taller than Cecilia, though not nearly as tall as Holtz. "I'll make you a deal. I'll turn myself and all of my men over to you when the Ork force pursuing me is defeated."

Cecilia narrowed her eyes, frowning. "Why should I accept those terms? Your being here is proof enough that you stood in dereliction of your duty to the defense of Cedrus, and as such you must be taken before a military court of law and judged."

Hammer sighed, shaking his head. "Fine, whatever. I'll do whatever you want, I'll accept any charges you wish to levy _when_ _the Orks are dead."_

Cecilia met his gaze, frowning before finally nodded. "You will go without a fight?"

Hammer stuck his hand out. "Yes." Cecilia regarded his hand as if it were a viper, before finally sliding her hand into his. A thin smile slid onto the man's face as they shook hands.

"I suppose a 'thank you' is in order." Hammer growled, though there was less anger in his tone and more of a tired exhaustion.

"You're welcome." Cecilia said nodding, taking the gunnery sergeant by surprise.

Hammer frowned. "No, I meant…" His voice of protest seemed to die in his throat and he sighed, shaking his head, choosing to drop the issue rather than perpetrating the problem with the stubborn young officer.

Cecilia turned, tugging her helmet off and letting her long blonde hair spill over her shoulders. Hammer froze for a second, his eyes latched on her, and he suddenly straightened up, coughing into his hand and turning away. He opened his mouth to speak but a PDF trooper stepped up, cutting him off. "We're ready to move out, Hammer."

"Very well." Hammer muttered, giving the lieutenant a glance and rolling his eyes as she tied her hair back and pulled her helmet back on. "I'll explain the rest when we arrive at our forward operating base. Oh, and I never caught your name…"

"Leftenant Cecilia Raath, 82nd Elysian Storm Troopers." The Grenadier said tersely. "And you are?"

Hammer snorted. "I suppose you'll need a name to write on the arrest record, won't you?" He chuckled, grinning. "Master Gunnery Sergeant Tobias 'Hammer' Langford, 2nd Armored Regiment of the Cedrus Planetary Defense force. The pleasure's all..." His voice trailed off as he shook her head and turned away.

"All…?" Cecilia said softly, frowning at him.

"I'd say the pleasure was all mine, but you've been anything but pleasurable so far, lieutenant." There was something seething in his voice as he smirked. He turned and slapped the Chimera, the vehicle rumbling to life and lurched forward, taking off at a slow walking pace.

"How dare you!" Cecilia snapped, but Hammer payed her no attention, falling in behind the Chimera.

"Hurry up, Blondie." The gunny yelled. "The rest of the Orks are likely on their way. You don't wanna be left out here in the cold, now do you?"

"Bastard." Cecilia hissed under her breath. There was a twitch as if he'd heard her, and she swore she caught him rolling his eyes as he picked up his stubber and waved his men forward in the wake of the Chimera. She sighed, gesturing that Holtz and Tawes fall in, setting off after the Gunny.


End file.
